


Trappings of an Acolyte: Book 2

by Marsevees Black (Dunblak_Vizgoth)



Series: Trappings of an Acolyte: Book 2 [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: (Check previous story), F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunblak_Vizgoth/pseuds/Marsevees%20Black
Summary: Second book in series.As stated in my ALERT, I will not be posting any more of this so I will be posting all technical thoughts/facts I had about the future of this storyline and characters there in.If anybody has any questions, email me at Tyffon3Arry@gmail.com-V





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Second book in series.  
> As stated in my ALERT, I will not be posting any more of this so I will be posting all technical thoughts/facts I had about the future of this storyline and characters there in. 
> 
> If anybody has any questions, email me at Tyffon3Arry@gmail.com
> 
> -V

Out of the Darkness came the Unborn clothed with binding foreign leather and sweet fuscia skin. Kneeling before me she swore her allegiance to my pack. She kissed the gifted crest upon my chest and the rune grew likewise upon her lips. The Daemonette hailed from the Prince, journeying through unseen channels of the everchanging Immaterium to stand at my side. I knew her then as I know her now, a capricious and mischievous thing like her mother. She was tempting and perilous. And she would be my Herald.

 

001.02M42

Born of desire to preserve and selfish indulgence, dark shadows whispered forth from the twisted webway toward the unsuspecting planet. Slipping from nightmare to reality the Dark Eldar were swift as wind and silent as mist.

With eager hearts filled with dreadful desires the few warriors of the Dead Lotus, Bloody Sleeve, Blue Temple, and Still-Born River kabals clenched their weapons tight. Small, frail, and all but useless were they, the lesser kabals of Commorragh; and most certainly of no use in war. So they aligned with each other in a temporary pact to ensure their own temporary survival. Terror made the blood of the dark capital flow. And there was always need of fresh blood.

But something was amiss. As the warriors descended to their pre-agreed positions they found them perfectly silent. The two Mon-keigh ships designated ‘monitors’ were devoid of life. Only the faint traces of plasma wake receding into the void could be read on the scanners. Orbiting the planet, the space station that had been a primary target was completely empty save for one corpse. The man had his throat slit in front of a large window overlooking the surface below. Blood spelled out a message in horribly written Eldar script with a vox code written in Mon-keigh letters and numbers below.

Roughly translated it read, ‘Consider a gift, ask if you seek audience, do not fall. Void.’. An odd symbol of wide eyes and a line with upturned ends was draw to the side.

Kabalite warriors grinned at one another. Whoever had written the message had thrown wide the gates and given them free reign to an unsuspecting world. They rushed down into the atmosphere with glee in their hearts and torture in their minds. Only one stayed back at the station.

The warrior of the Dead Lotus kabal removed her helm and letting down flowing locks of long auburn hair. Dark blue eyes glittered like deep set jewels in pale skin. The eight-pointed star of chaos tattooed in angry black upon her slender neck and the symbol of the Yme-loc craftworld was branded on her forehead. A swirling eye was inked underneath her bottom lip.

She stared at the message as the Dark Eldar swarmed toward the planet in the background. All that concerned her were the words. No Eldar, twisted or not, had formed the script. And, as the vox code suggested, they wanted attention.

Anastari N’zhatharyth Arten allowed herself a smirk as she fiddled with the hilt of her wych knife. The eyes of her helm had seen all. Ard Khairyn would be most interested.

 

 

001.03M42

Captain Ewing Tydarus directed his Cobra-class Missile Destroyer, pridefully named _Eyes of the Emperor_ , around the asteroid rings of a nebula. It’s white bow plate was striped red as grey-eyed torpedo tubes stared ahead with patience. The main body had all been painted a forest green with traces of red or gold. Though that was only a speculation. None of them had ever seen a forest.

The admiral overseeing the Adrantis sub-sector, a particularly supercilious commander named Gregorev Poritandu, ordered the nebula searched for possible pirates who had been rumored to be plying the lanes between the Adrantis subsector and the sector capital, Scintilla. Though the Captain had his doubts about the Admiral, primarily the lack of any other accompanying ship or convoy on this mission, orders were orders.

Captain Tydarus was a man of his word. He would do as he had been commanded. Though sifting through leagues upon leagues of asteroids was tedious he would stay the course. As if brushing off the thought he swiped some non-existent dirt from the shoulders of his uniform. He strode forward and peered through the bridge windows into the void as particles of matter caught the light of distant stars. One could spend countless millennia simply gazing in awe at the ever minutely changing layers of the Emperor’s galaxy. When not in warp, the armored windows would remain open and allow a more accessible line of sight. But when making a journey into the vile passages of the immaterium then metal shielding was lowered to block every window or opening from the horrors outside. Only their navigator, astropath, and geller field would keep them safe by the Emperor’s will.

A blaring alarm drew everyone’s attention. Yellow-orange lights flashed along the walls, a proximity alert, driving all the bridge hands into a frenzy. None of their auger array sweeps had picked up anything. No ship had been detected and no plasma wake found.

Something rumbled and ripples of whitish-blue washed in front of the _Eyes of the Emperor’s_ bow. It was soon followed by another and another in quick succession. Captain Tydarus grimaced, guessing what was tearing apart his ship’s void shields.

“Orbital mines Captain!” One of the hands reported from his station, confirming the Captain’s suspicions. “They seem to be drifting up at us!”

“Full forward, 30 second hold then cut engines!” Ewing barked.

The flashes of light continued to spark the shields all around them. A new warning siren and alarm light joined the first, blue for shields. Though the destroyer was a good ship it could not take a beating like the larger cruisers or battleships. Cobra-class destroyers were escorts designed to launch torpedoes at enemies while backed up by others branches of the Imperial Navy. Not be battered by a sudden gust of mines from below.

The ship lurched forward, engines burning at full strength to be free of the drifting mine net. Ewing winced as he the shrill of the shield warning sirens grew louder and he saw the ripples give way all together.

“Brace!” He commanded, standing firmly on his own two feet as if he was rooted to his ship.

A jolt shook every beam and rivet of the ship as a muffled bang echoed throughout the interior. The shield siren gave out altogether, leaving a blue flashing light and an ever growing cry of the proximity alarm now that the integrity of the ship was taking damage.

By the Emperor’s grace the one mine was all there was. The rest passed harmlessly behind them as the Cobra shut off its engines to drift forward. However, safety was soon replaced by worry as a third alarm rang. Red for fire and energy dangers.

Captain Tydarus frowned. “I want us away from those drift mines immediately!”

A shudder and a groan, indecipherable to the common void sailor, harkened to the Captain’s ears along the lines and bars of his ship. “Belay that! We have something caught on our pylons. Get men out there to see if they can detach it immediately and tell the crews to see if there is any damage to the hull! Get a report from engineering! I want those void shields back up as soon as possible! Do not falter men, Emperor Protects!”

“Emperor Protects!” Came the reply.

Ewing smiled grimly. “Very good. Master of the Vox, I want a transmission sent to the nearest port tell them-”

He never got to finish as a bridge hand interrupted him. “Captain! Receiving vox Imperial transmission!”

“The Emperor smiles on us today. Broadcast it to the bridge.”

“-class destroyer, Cobra-class Destroyer, this is armed freighter _Holy Scripture_ , our augers detect you are leaking plasma wash. Do you require assistance?” A somewhat static voice called out over the vox channel.

“ _Holy Scripture_ , this is Captain Ewing Tydarus of the _Eyes of the Emperor_. We are in a bind and require support. Pull alongside and prepare to assist. There are mines caught on our fantail that are in need of dislodging. Careful they do not catch you.” The Captain waited patiently for an answer.

For a second the static seemed to emit a high-pitched whine that almost sounded like a scream before the _Holy Scripture_ ’s reply came back. “ _Eyes of the Emperor,_ we hear your call. Please prepare for contact.”

The Captain looked over to the auger sensors with approval as there was a blip that came from behind his Cobra-class Destroyer. The armed freighter was not very trustworthy in terms of combat but they would have supplies to get the _Eyes of the Emperor_ up in a pinch. When he got back to port, Ewing would make sure to write the admiralty board about the _Holy Scripture._ But something was odd. The armed freighter was approaching slower than expected. And they kept coming from behind.

Ewing chided himself into thinking that it was nothing. Each void ship captain was different and this one liked to approach from the back. There was nothing wrong with that. But it was more than slightly unnerving. He kept his stern face impassive to keep the bridge crew from worrying but as the _Holy Scripture_ drew nearer he began to question himself.

There was more strange sounding static and the slow-moving blip continued to come from behind; a voice, as if to allay the Captain’s personal fears, called over the vox. “We are coming up behind you _Eyes of the Emperor_ and we see your plight. A pair of mines are entrapped around your fantail like you said. We will send men to assist yours as we come alongside.”

“As you say _Holy Scripture_.” Ewing almost sighed with relief. “Master of the Vox, inform the work crews to receive additional hands from the _Holy Scripture._ ”

“Yes Captain.” The Master of the Vox looked slightly disconcerted. “Captain, I cannot reach the work crews. All I am receiving is high-pitch static.”

It happened all at once. None onboard the Cobra-class destroyer were prepared, nor could they have been, for the unrelenting onslaught that surged into them. As the _Holy Scripture_ docked, no maybe even before then, violent and gleeful minions fell upon the crew of the _Eyes of the Emperor_. Those working to free the colossal mines from the Destroyer’s fantail were met not with friendly or helping hands but with blades and guns that silenced them before they could cry out. When the maintenance hatches were unlocked to let the work crews back in they were filled with enemies that surged through the unprotected portals as soon as they were safe from the vacuum. No alarm was raised. There was simply no time.

Providers met guardians as the greeting vessels swam between the two star ships. First one then more. The welcoming party was at first confused by the unnecessary three ships that docked in their small loading bay. One would have been fine but more help was always welcome. Befuddlement turned to horror as their relief flooded toward them with evil in their eyes. Guns blazed and men fell. A mass of blood thirsty militants swarmed forward, annihilating all the able bodied crew in the hanger in a matter of seconds. And there were more ships coming.

Screams and merciless marauders hurtled through the tunnels of the ship, racing up and up toward the bridge. None could announce their arrival because none had a chance. All who attempted to access a vox were cut down in a flood of demented blades and gunfire. Their plan was calculated, if brutal; never swaying from its goal of reaching the bridge. From there they would begin their control of the ship. From there they would begin their infection.

Captain Tydarus sat in the tower of sanctity and control, the one place where all information flowed and stratagems were put in place, and he was helplessly out of depth. Blind to anything and everything that was occurring on his ship. Unaware of the vicious tide of butchery that rushed up from the loading bay. There was an unmistakable roar, a primordial thumping and shuddering like the charging of one thousand horse cavalry. And then silence.

The absence of open communication was unnerving. They were an island in the void, in their own ship, and not even they knew what was occurring. Captain Tydarus kept his steel faced frown intact in hopes of maintaining some semblance of order. He had left his sword in his quarters, opting to wear just his uniform. How he wished for it now.

A thump came from one of the doors. Then another. Metal groaned as it was forced apart. A few armsmen, what few there were on the bridge, gathered near the portals in a vain hope to stop the tide with only their bare hands. The doors were ripped open to reveal the _Eyes of the Emperor_ ’s assailants. Ewing let out an involuntary gasp as he looked on the masses of blade and gun wielding attackers, their flesh scared and marked with various symbols. Heretics.

“Is there something troubling you Captain?” A cool melodic voice whispered from behind him as if drifting upon an unfelt breeze.

All eyes turned to behold something none of them were prepared for. Sitting in the Captain’s own chair was a youth no older than 12 terran years. Blonde, alluringly slender with a girlish figure, sharp blue-grey eyes, and a pale complexion. He wore a rather revealing outfit of baggy trousers with dozens of pockets and a shirt cut at the midriff to reveal the vertical slit of an eye socket where his navel would have been. The green iris stared up at the Imperial captain from the boy’s belly in a sort of lazy manner.

To his right a girl with platinum hair and emerald eyes stared lazily around at the bridge crew. Her body was covered by modest clothing, a tunic and trousers of ordinary make with soldier booted feet crossed at the ankle. But beneath the girl’s clothes something twisted and turned over her form, leaving evident rises underneath the cloth. On her hands, small lines of cord knotted like strings on a marionette as they overlaid her tendons and bones. She looked to be about 15 or 16 terran years, but it was indeterminable.

At the boy’s feet lay a woman of 25 with short cut blue-black hair shaved on the right and Cadian purple eyes. She was slender but solidly built. Perhaps a militant of some sort. She wore combat boots and little else. What looked to be some sort of white bed sheeting was tied around her form, lacing her up in knots but leaving all her private areas bare for them to see. Her hungry expression and almost purring moans gave the Captain the urge to kill her immediately. Or vomit out his own insides. One would be as preferable as the other.

However, on his left was something completely reviling. It appeared female though that would have been a gross misinterpretation of its anatomy. Its blueish grey skin looked like a mass bruise evenly spread over the entire body.

Her hair was impossibly white and stray black feathers peaked out from the alabaster locks as they curled down to her shoulders. Horns of a ram grew from the sides of her forehead, eyes flickering between every ridge, and curled back. Rabbit ears grew from the sides of its head with bone-like spikes growing from the topmost ridges. Along its cheeks and behind its eyes were gill like frills, or perhaps they were ridges. One could hardly tell the difference. Another pair of horns grew out and around from the base of its skull along its jawline before fanning out into sharp points like a yoke. From behind the things head twirled a thin tentacle like appendage with round ball like webbed stub-fingers, three of them in total. And when they opened, the blasphemous sight of a woman’s nethers were revealed to whomever looked at the wriggling head-tail. Its tongue twirled over succulent lips, but the saliva coated appendage was decidedly unnatural. The tongue flattened and distended like a normal one but the shape itself was incorrect. Where the tip was a bulbous flat shape like that of a flattened mushroom cap, giving the disturbed impression of a phallus.

Purple and lavender colored dragon wings fluttered lamely behind her back with two clawed fingers flicking at the alula. These leathery wings could never be mistaken for true wings, their span was 1.2 meters wide at the most with light lavender membranes and darker colored skeletal structure. Its breast were brazenly left bare for all to see, two perfectly formed but otherwise discolored ones and then two below the first pair that grew from the center of the thing’s chest as to form an inverse trapezoid. From its thin elbows grew scything bone spurs with chiseled edges and boney ridges.

Tentacles and wormy appendages seemed to grow and contract from behind the things muscular thighs. Its legs were perhaps the most inhuman thing about it. Long, slender, and bony digitigrade calves ended in large four claw-toed paw-like feet. Two main toes seemed to keep the things balance while the other two served as what would be considered thumbs. The feet were large enough to fit over a man’s face, perhaps even his skull, while the slender calves were all sinew and bone with barely any muscle. Behind the wide sash of its purple loincloth something unnatural and repulsive stirred; and a fluffy rabbit tail of pure white wiggled slightly above her covered rear.

On its lips was the ruinous mark of the pleasure god. The pink crescent hooked slightly at its nose and the downward crescent dipped at its lips while the bar dropped below those same lips to pool into a circle. It marked the thing as a servant of that entity. The vile thing with no true gender. With no end to its appetite. Purring like a feline, before them stood a daemon.

Though it was the impossibly young the boy at the center that seemed to keep the rabble standing in the doors at bay by authority alone. The Captain decided that in all likeliness the youth was possessed. That had to be it. Before him lounged two beautiful women and a daemon, how else would one explain the probability of a child leading a ship full of crazed heretics?

The boy whispered something to the sensuous daemon. It grinned from ear to ear, a mouthful of bleached white teeth and that horrid tongue, as it did a twirl before disappearing into the huddled masses at the door. Calmly, the youth turned back to the ship’s captain with a patient grin on his face. As if he was waiting for something.

“Who-”

“Allow me to spare you any unnecessities, Captain. Who I am is of little relevance at the moment except the position I hold.” The boy stood, though his short and lithe form could not be quite called intimidating. “I am willing to give you a choice. You and your men can walk off this ship and be transported to my former vessel. My crew is already unpacking everything we need into your docking bays but the armed freighter you know as the _Holy Scripture_ is under power. Your Cobra Destroyer was a pleasant surprise to say the least. I have been looking forward to having a military ship at hand.”

Captain Tydarus took a step forward to the noticeable tensing of the crowds at the doors. Yet they held back. The boy WAS infected. And the thing inside him, of the same brood that had been at the boy’s side, controlled these mindless thugs.

“What makes you think I will hand over my ship to you, daemon?” He growled, trying to impose his height over his smaller opponent. Though it was a weak gamble.

The boy smiled. “I was not talking to you individually captain.”

Ewing frowned.

“I was talking to the crew.” The boy glanced at all the bridge hands that had stalled from their workstations. “Every member of the crew, apart from the astropaths and-or navigators, is entitled to a fifty-fifty choice. Each of you has an opportunity of a lifetime, perhaps even ten lifetimes!”

A chuckled rumble settled through the door mobs as if in agreement. Those in the forefront wore knowing grins. Or at least that is what they appeared to be to Captain Tydarus.

“Any man or woman or person who wishes can join my crew and stay to work on this ship. I promise that here there will be things like no other. Sensations and feelings and opportunities that you would otherwise be torn away from.” The boy took a moment to look back at the Captain. “Or, for the non-adventurous and are content with their work under the Captain, the armed freighter is available to you. As I said to the Captain, the engines are operable and it’s under power. There was a malfunctioning glitch with the vox, but as you may have noticed we were able to repair it. In addition there have been several mishaps with the plasma coils and my crew was forced to scrounge resources from the rest of the ship. But I stand by my word that the _Holy Scripture_ will fly.”

“You have from now until my crew finishes their transport of goods from the _Holy Scripture_ to here, approximately 2 hours terran time, to come to a decision. Any who wish to leave will be granted an additional 24 hours to gather their belongings and be taken to the _Holy Scripture_. Those that remain will take on their responsibilities as part of my crew.” The youth took a minute to let his words sink in before slinking back into the Captain’s chair. “My crew is making itself at home here so we will be moving in our possessions and anything else. You will not be judged or harassed for leaving this ship. My crew will not take anything that belongs to you as individuals but you will be required to surrender any gear in your possession.”

He wriggled around in the seat for a moment before turning his attention to Ewing. “Y’know, with all the resources the techs put into building ships you would think they would at least put cushioned seats in these things.”

Ewing thought about making a snide remark but bit it back. He had other things to worry about. The former Captain of the _Eyes of the Emperor_ only needed to glance around the bridge to see the uncertainty that crossed the faces of every crewman. Each of them was wondering if the strange boy was actually lying. He was just a boy after all. The Captain had to set an example for his crew.

Former Captain Ewing Tydarus of the Imperial Navy of the Imperium of Mankind and of the Cobra-class Missile Destroyer _Eyes of the Emperor_ stoically clicked his heels in a huff and pivoted, stalking toward one of the thug infested entrances. As promised, the rabble parted in front of him like void dust before a geller field. Surging with confidence, the former Captain made his way back to his cabin to retrieve some personal artifacts as well as some confidential documents. A few followed him, sticking close to their Captain out of the human comfort in number despite the fact it would do them no good, but others stayed. Some more confident in their positions while others were simply too indecisive about being uprooted from all they knew.

Whether the former Captain expected it or not, he found his quarters, a somewhat lavish space reserved for the highest officer and sometimes a visiting noble if one was provided transport aboard the void ship, void of any documents and charts that were there before. All that was left was Ewing’s own personal items. Even more surprisingly, when he exited his cabin and began his stern march down to the docking bay with munitorum-type power sword in one hand and a box in the other none of the invaders stopped him. None of them asked for his service pistol nor his sword. On his way down he passed others gathering up their things. And while the thugs may have leered at the crew, none raised a hand to stop them. Two-thirds of the crew followed their Captain off ship and transported to the _Holy Scripture_ with the _Eyes of the Emperor_ ’s own. Though a part of his crew had abstained from joining his exile, the Captain did not mourn their loss for more than a few moments. He had a new ship to command. As soon as the ships began offloading inside the _Holy Scripture_ the Captain immediately headed to the bridge.

Aside from the basics, the command deck was plain as any proper Imperial vessel should be. Spartan and clean. Almost extensively so. As if the former crew had swept away any trace of their vile contamination. Once they were back in port Ewing would schedule the armed freighter for purification by the Adeptus Mechanicus.

More and more of the _Eyes of the Emperor_ ’s crew docked and reported in to their assigned, if not misplaced stations. Most of them had been on the Cobra-class Destroyer for their entire career, short or long, and had trouble readjusting to a different kind of vessel. As the influx pressed through the cargo carriers wide loading bays there was a distinct lack of certain crewmen. Those that had stayed were the ones who were considered the lowest of rank. The voidsmen and their kin. Ones who worked the engines under the roaring commissars and commanding engineers. More often than not, those who had little to no idea that the power structure in the ship had changed at all.

Captain Tydarus frowned. This was too be expected but it put a choke grip on his departure. Or at least on the timing of.

He ordered the chief engineer to get them underway over the vox channel and had the engines start up immediately. The Captain also ordered the entire bridge swept and searched for anything malicious in nature. He did not trust the boy’s words and never would. It was an Imperial Captain’s duty to report in to a port as soon as possible. The vox was missing several key components just as that boy had said, leaving the Captain no choice but early departure. The heretical crew had relocated all their goods to the once proud vessel he himself had commanded. As for the rest of his own crew, those who did not already come or were hesitant had signed their own death warrants. The Emperor had no mercy for the doubtful or the fearful or the complacent.

A familiar rumble of plasma engines echoed in the barebones of the bridge as the _Holy Scripture_ got underway. Captain Ewing Tydarus left more than a third of his crew onboard the Cobra-class Missile Destroyer formerly known as _Eyes of the Emperor_. His heart did not mourn for them for it was filled with duty. His eyes did not look back to them for they were full of fury. His ears did not hear them for he had sealed himself and those immediately loyal to him in a fortress divided by the void. If the Emperor were to grant them mercy, the Captain theorized they would be granted a swift death. Of which they would be avenged.

Slowly the _Holy Scripture_ pulled away and out of the asteroid tides with its new crew manning the armed freighter as best they could.

 

“I don’t suppose they’ll be back anytime soon, eh boss?” One of the Acolytes crew, a convert from the armed freighters original crew named Dyriel, stood within a few meters of the command chair.

Marahn-Marhna, Mithra, Sabrina, and various others watched their former nest blow away from the Destroyer without waiting for those left behind. It’s plasma wash glowing bright blue as it was slowly fading, though the hull of the armed freighter could still be seen. The _Eyes of the Emperor_ ’s alarms had fallen silent as the new crew went about making the repairs. Geller shields were up, the engines were easily repaired, and the hull needed a work over. However, _Eyes of the Emperor_ was a ready void ship capable of taking her crew through space and the warp.

“No I think not.” Marahn huffed as he turned to a purple-haired girl with the mark of chaos tattooed on her throat. “Vox the entire ship. I want it made clear that those left behind are our compatriots. They are to be treated with the same respect my crew lends to each other. Their possessions are their own. And for the love of all that is Slaanesh, please send a few members of the crew down into the depths of this ship. I can practically feel the abstinence coming from the lower castes.”

He turned to Mithra and Sabrina, giving the latter an affectionate pat on the head. “You both can go ahead to the officer’s quarters. Pick one that hasn’t been seized already.”

Mithra nodded and gave Marahn-Marhna a peck on the cheek. Her emerald eyes always keen and made sure she left him with a glance of caution. They both knew they were playing the long game, now more than ever. Sabrina was less formal and displayed her affection by suckling on the Acolyte’s middle finger before rising to depart.

A faint clicking of noise signaled the Heralds return. “Are they leaving already?” The Daemonette purred. “And I only had the chance to make my introductions. Do you think the Captain will think of me?”

“I don’t know anybody who doesn’t.” Marahn-Marhna frowned. “Dyreil, did anybody remember to reattach the cold conductors back to the plasma coils?”

The man thought for a moment. “No I don’t recall anybody doing that. Eh, they should be fine. As long as they don’t try crank it up to top notch they should be good. But I would think they’d have their own people figure out for them.”

There was a bright flash in the distance where the glow of plasma exhaust had once been. A long pause followed as the quickly repaired shields rippled slightly as the ship was sprinkled with fragments.

“I presume they didn’t check the coolant before taking off.” Marahn-Marhna sighed and glanced at Dyreil. “Make sure to leave a note next time, if there is one.”

“Yes sir.” The cultist bowed out.

“And tell everybody to maintain the ship as best they can to minimize work accidents. I don’t want anything blowing up while staring at it.” He stared at the Herald as if laying the future fault or responsibility on her.

Though he was the least aged physically amongst the crew, Marahn-Marhna had grown on the harsh battlefields of the Imperium. War was his teacher. Failure his discipline. Pain his punishment. Death his fate. But the boy had slain his future. Broke against the mold and gone against the grain. In the days following the departure of the _Holy Scripture_ from the Acolyte had sent a whisper through the Imperial vessel that shook it to its core. Promises of pleasure and pain. Sensations beyond the imagination. Freedom from societal constraints. Before too long there were festering growths of chaos taint throughout the ship. When violence broke out it was the Acolyte who stood as king of the hill. His brilliant tactical awareness and authoritative decisiveness had cut away any obstacle that moved against him or his group. It had been a hard fought battle but the armed freighter was soon within the grip of the Acolyte. But he never mistreated his followers. They were his battle brothers and sisters. Kin forged in the fires of conflict and rebellion. And they knew he would not squander their lives as the Imperium had. No, he would show them life.

“How did your visitation with the Astropath and Navigators go?” Marahn-Marhna queried of his Herald.

The Daemonette’s smile washed from her eyes as carnal light. “They promised to behave.” Her phallic-shaped tongue came out to suggestively lick along her rune sealed lips. “As long as they get a good night kiss every now and then.”

The Acolyte stared through the bridge front windows as if weighing the prospects. “Anita.”

A short and somewhat stocky woman around 40 with buzzed hair, intense blue eyes, and years of toned muscle crawled out from under the bridge control panels. Born and raised in the void, Anita had been a mechanic and electrician on the _Holy Scripture_ before Marahn-Marhna boarded. Though she had affections for one of her crewmates, a fellow mechanic no less, one of the higher officers had been abusing his position to gain sexual favors from her. Their argument during the mutiny had ended when she stoved the officer’s head in with a wrench. Since then she had become one of the ship’s de-facto den mother’s. Along with Sabrina, the Acolyte himself, Mithra, and several others, any could come to her with no questions asked and talk.

Marahn-Marhna stood and walked softly over to the mechanic. Standing next to the muscular woman the Acolyte looked like a languid girl. He interlocked his fingers in front of him before giving a respectful nod.

“Could you ask around to those who are interested in wires and stationary lovers?”

Anita snorted her amusement as a smirk twitched along the edges of her mouth. “Anything I should add to the list of preferences?”

“Ramblings on the Immaterium and perhaps slight egotism?” It was Marahn-Marhna’s turn to grin as he glanced up at the Daemonette. “If they can put up with that I think our Herald here could lend a hand every now and then. Maybe even teach the wanting party how to dirty talk.”

“A’ight.” The stocky mechanic tapped a driver against her leg. “I’ll put the word out, let you know if anybody is interested.”

“My thanks.” The Acolyte nodded again slightly.

He looked around as his crew, his people, went about their work setting in their new home. Diligently building and repairing their new vessel together. Their ark that would sail the unforgiving void. A new home for a family born in fire.

The Acolyte nodded to himself and set about helping out where he could. Every one of his crew greeted with respect, if not devotion. Each of them knew that they were heretical in the eyes of the Imperium. They were little more than a void sailing cult looking for the next meal or the next indulgence to their former people. But this, their new existence, completed them. They knew each other as friend. Reliance and respect were the bones, and community was the blood of the Acolyte’s crew. Together they walked in the youth’s shadow and took affirmation in his words. It was more than a cult. It was family.

Within a solar day they had the entire ship back up and running. The parts and scraps they brought along with them from the _Holy Scripture_ had come in handy to patch needed repairs. As shifts switched and shuffled to new quarters the Cobra-class Missile Destroyer awakened as a new vessel. No longer was it a beacon of the Imperium of Mankind’s indisputable strength, but a refuge of the negligence it refused to remember.

The Acolyte stood on the bridge with all those around him waiting. Everything had been put in order. The former inhabitants were consoled and reinforced the promise that they would be welcomed without harassment. New crew members sought out niches and quarters abandoned hastily salvaged. But all stood now with spirit of choice raised in celebration, waiting for their leader’s toast. Some held distilled and sour whisky refined from old pipes, while others grasped canteens of thrice-filtered water. Their tastes were as different as the individuals themselves but they were all beholden unto their commander and friend. Their Acolyte.

He wore the same loose, pocket-infested pants with short cut shirt. In his hands he held a relic graced to the _Eyes of the Emperor_ at its first christening. The large bowl-goblet was gaudy and covered in Imperial iconographs. A thin pinkish water stirred gently in the bronze confines.

Marahn-Marhna raised the symbol of Imperial pride for all on the deck to see, his voice broadcasted to every corner of the ship through the vox channels. “The Condition of Recompense! _Vicis Pretium!_ ”

A multitude of voices toasted to match his own, some unheard in the metal cathedral while others rang clear on the bridge and through the vox. “ _Vicis Pretium!_ ”

All drank but once in adulation of their ship, their home, their recompense. On the bridge the acolyte poured the rest of the liquid onto the deck and let the blessed cup slip from his grasp. The heavy metal icon tumbled and clanged as it skittered a few meters from the new leader as if trying to escape its fate. As he took offered chainsword in hand, Marahn-Marhna approached the loathsome goblet. The hungry, bladed teeth rattled from the Mk. Xf Hell's teeth. It was a crude weapon of brutality and war. A mindless beast that knew only hunger and blood. As he approached the fallen cup the Acolyte stoked the chainsword’s throttle, and as he took the last step there was a roar as he swiped the blade up and to his right in a diagonal uppercut. Like butter the metal of the holy drinking glass was shredded, its bowl nearly bisected near the stem and fell. Useless and no longer of any purpose but for the metal it was formed of.

The Acolyte shut off the still unsatisfied chainsword and gazed down at the cup with a folorn look as he addressed his crew. “Let us not make the errors our predecessors and our former masters made. Let us look back on our mistakes and learn from them. Let us balance our passion with temperance. To the future, may we endeavor to find the middle ground. So may it be mote.”

“So may it be mote.” Voices echoed throughout the void fairing destroyer.

Plasma engines silently glowed to life in a blue haze of particle dust. The workers had cleared the clinging mines as well as reinforced the hull where it had taken damage. Void shields invisibly buffered against the perils of real space. The newly christened _Vicis Pretium_ , with its red-stripped white bow and green-gold body, lit up her engines. With a burst of blue light the torpedo-boat escort slipped into the void.

 

 

001.031M42

Their beloved Brother-Captain was dead.

Alone in the silent void their mourning wails echoed only in the halls of their wandering vessels. Only the nightmares of the begotten Primarch, the beloved Sanguinius, could compare to the anguish of the finest warriors. Iron will snapped and steely muscles were useless lumps. The mightiest guns could not fight off their grief. The greatest armor could not shield them from their pain. The bulwark against the Terror, the Defenders of Humanity, the Space Marines that were the ultimate arbiters of the god-Emperor of Mankind were afraid. They were alone.

Once known as the Angel Tears chapter, the Void Walker’s Battle Barge _Sitati_ floated Rimward as they entered Josiah Reach on the outskirts of a large asteroid field. Flanking the space-faring cathedral were the Gladius-class Frigates _Despero_ , _Diffido_ , and _Daploro_. These vessels and five Nova-class Frigates, the _Fego, Enden, Haggar, Hun,_ and _Scarab_ , were the last remnants of the Angel Tears chapter. Of ten whole companies, only a few remained. While the 1st, 7th, and 8th companies were completely intact the fragmented 10th and 4th companies were little more than diminished squads. The Apothecaries, what little they had left amongst their ranks, were of little used save for initiating new neophytes and healing post-battle damage.

As the Angel Tears they had been a righteous chapter. Their victories were minor but were well-fought none the less. Against the traitors, foul xenos, and rebellious heretics they had waged war after war since their founding in the 39th Millenium. Three thousand years later they were nomads. Outcastes. Their Chapter Master, a man of great compassion and fervor, was laid low by a traitorous bullet. While the majority of the chapter was away on a crusade their homeworld had been assaulted. The Ecclesiarchy betrayed them. Branded them Excommunicate Traitoris and sent the Minotaurs in to purge them. Perhaps more of them would have survived if they had not resisted. Perhaps they could have bargained with the executioner of their brothers. But as their Chapter Master saw his men being cut down as they raised no hand in anger or resentment, the Black Rage consumed him. Several of the captains had rushed with him until only the Master of the Watch, Master of the Marches, and Master of the Victualler remained. Their Regent called out to them to contact the fleet and have them meet at a designated point. The last any one saw of the remaining Brother-Captains was the sight of red clashing with bronze as the Chapter Master tore through the Minotaur’s ranks whilst reliving the death of their Primarch.

Only a few would escape the homeworld as it was purged with hateful flame. They crammed aboard several frigates and vanished into the warp. The Master of the Watch had taken a profound beating as they retreated, fighting off all comers by himself and using his body as a shield to ward shots away from the few neophytes that could escape. His ceramite armor, though strong and dependable, was bent and burned from the onslaught. With much anguish and silent mourning the Angel Tears departed as renegades.

They had spent the past hundred years limping from sector to sector, gleaning what resources they could, and praying to the god-Emperor that their Brother-Captain, their Master of the Watch, would recover. But their hopes were in vain. Their Brother-Captain had finally conceded to his grievous wounds. The Angel Tears wept for days in the void. They did not rest as their Apothecaries performed last writes for their Master of the Watch. It was the Master of the Marches, Brother-Captain Jhedidia Whenton, that gave one last farewell before their leader was entombed in the _Sitati_.

With furious anger filling their hearts the renegades took on a new name, Void Walkers, as they journeyed forth. They would repay the foolish Ecclesiarchy, the foul Inquisition, the corrupt Adeptus Terra, and the fratricidal Adeptus Astartes in full. The Void Walkers, their colors halved in black and red with stripes of grey, would pay them back in wrath.

 

 

001.032M42

After more than a century spend along The Periphery and Rimward edge of the Calixis sector fighting off minor Ork Waaaghs the Order of Ash and Brimstone Adeptus Sororitas, a small branch of the Order of the Sacred Rose, return to their home world.

The Piety of Seth, a shrine world of cold barren wastes and blizzard swept badlands, was little more than a graveyard for the Imperial Ecclesiarchy but it was home none the less. The ever vigilant Seraphim, the Order’s ever guiding leaders, lead the war-worn procession into the long chapels where the Canoness Commander, a former Seraphim herself, spoke a final anti-bellum prayer over her sisters that each might be at peace knowing they had fought and won as the sisters before them would have wished. Striving to defeat the enemies of mankind before they could swallow the precious gems long claimed by the Emperor’s forces. They could rest that their sisters looked down upon them from the Emperor’s gilded throne with affection and know that they, the sisters of the Order of Ash and Brimstone, had honored those before them.

Each sister walked out of the chapel tired to the bone but with chine held high. Their gold, black, and white cloth swirled about in the fridged air as they returned to their quarters. In the armory initiate sisters found capable enough to enter into the Seraphim squad waited on their fellow sisters, carefully and diligently removing their battle gear. A tech-priest or two of verified female gender also attended to give writes to the machine-spirits. Dark hair of all kinds from red to black fell over pail and often scarred shoulders as each sister was separated from her armor, leaving only her vestments and a plain shift beneath.

Among them was sister Dyahna Mavthese, a powerfully if not lithe built woman of 27 with long dark hair the color of freshly mined coal. She towered over most as she stood 187 cm in height but only 55 kilograms, which allowed her to carry out her duty as a Seraphim with greater ease. Her pale frame was devoid of most mechanical enhancements aside from a few reinforced ribs and replaced cervical vertebrae. But these she bore with honor as they were her medals of valor, won against a deadly foe in defense of a fallen sister.

Sister Maythese returned to her quarters and bathed before redressing to see the Canoness. The former Seraphim had sworn to her in battle, to all of them, that return to the Piety of Seth also meant permission for requested leave. True to her word the Canoness Commander gave permission to any of the sisters who requested travel respite. They had earned it several times over.

In particular, Sister Maythese journeyed to the pleasure world of Reth. But it was not pleasure or leisure that drew her. She had a biological siblings, two in fact, that had been taken into the Schola Progenium. While Dyahna had been welcomed into the Order of Ash and Brimstone as an excellent Seraphim candidate, her two sisters had showed remarkable skills in healing and both had gone into service with the Order Hospitaller. Reth was their main station but Dyahna’s visits were rare. Even if the Calixis sector was relatively calm, war of the Imperium still edged at its borders.

But as the happily expectant Dyahna, clothed in flowing robes bearing her order’s colors and symbol of a falcon aquila, stepped onto tropical soil she was greeted by horror. No longer was Reth a place of languid peace and luxurious subtleties. Imperial Guardsmen swarmed like ants here and there. The Adepta Sororitas easily recognized the familiar colors and vestments of the Calixis Conclave, the Inquisition institution for the Calixis sector. Tempestus Scions, like unfeeling gargoyles, moved as walls around each of the Imperium’s watchmen and women moved about with their trains of acolytes and assistants. There was a line as each passenger was thoroughly inspected and validated, and to Dyahna’s surprise even an Adepta Sororitas was not immune to the uncomfortable scrutiny. But it was not until she had reached the former Asylum of Saint Vero that she truly understood why such weight was forced onto every person.

The building itself was gone and the island was a burnt husk devoid of life. Promethium fumes still lingered in the air to mingle with the scent of scorched earth. Dyahna was not naïve enough and had been on too many battlefields to not notice the faint stench of burnt flesh faintly mingled in the background of smells. But her dark eyes could find no bodies. Though she looked and looked as the corners of her vision began to blur with hot tears there were no bodies. The only thing that could be found were heaps of black ash and remains of constructed mortar.

A voice behind her droned out that the asylum had been subjected to a purge. After a violent eruption on one of the equatorial islands an influential noble, Kylax Adnromidez, was found dead with heretical markings ritualistically painted on his chamber doors. Not long after there had been a Warp rift opened in the Asylum which was large enough to spew out nightmarish, twisted beings of the Immaterium. Valiant attempts by the Order Hospitaller were made to stop the halt of the beasts but their blood was spilt in vain. All those who once resided on the island had perished and the Inquisition, with the approval of the Planetary Governor Jedidiah de Caul, was given no choice but to purge the Asylum of Saint Vero whole. The few beasts that escaped were hunted down and put to the flame. Unofficially the Inquisition suspected the events were correlated with the disappearance of two noble families that had been vacationing off the erupted island volcano and an Imperial Guardsman who had recently been transferred from the Luggnum Sewer Rat ranks. A third individual was spotted leaving the docks with them though this had yet to be confirmed. Emperor Protects.

Sister Maythese only stayed long enough to collect a bottle of black, brittle, and ashen sand of what remained of her beloved blood sisters. When she arrived back at the Order barracks she did not speak of what had transpired. The bitter cold was a welcome as the clear bottle of blackened earth hung like a dead crow from her neck. In the days to come, as she cleansed and recleaned her equipment over and over again, she only thought of retribution.

 

 

SENDER: Inquisitor Kroft Howhlmun

DESTINATION: Office of Pax Dumontis Bytheum, Estate of the House of Krin, Goldenhand, Hive Tarsus, Scintilla, Golgenna Reach

SUBJECT: Reth Development (GRAVIS)

SENT:  001.032-5M42

RECEIVED:  001.032-9M42

MESSAGE FORMAT: Text-Scroll

ASTROPATHIC DUCT: Allaal Al’Khain

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: A hesitant mind is a weak mind

 

Disturbing reports have been filed and noted by the Inquisitorial offices of Woadran Rathbone. Cargo and trade vessels simply gone missing in the void. Sources inside one of the high houses say that one of Admiral Gregorev Poritandu’s Cobra-class Missile Destroyers has disappeared. I am not normally one to call upon rumor as an information well but there have been tales weaved along the docks of a piratical group terrorizing the sub-sectors of Andratis, Drusus Marches, and Josian Reach.

These events seem to stem from recent and most disturbing events unfolded on the paradise world of Reth. Planetary Governor has been cleared of suspicion and is more than willing to help in any matter or investigation.

Suspect a female Imperial Guardswoman, Sabrina Praxin, is involved as her complete disappearance from planet is suspect. Last seen boarding a surface-to-void transport directed to the armed freighter _Holy Scripture_. Said armed freighter has yet to reach destination.

Liken to this is the disappearance of two noble families and the death of Kylax Andromidez. The later was found in his librarium after repeated inquiries to his house. Servants had to force open the doors to find the man bound to his chair and pierced in eyes and bridge of nose. Along the interior of the door were heretical markings made in ink and a symbol carved into the man’s forehead. Star of Chaos found and theorized that the servants of the Ruinous Powers are behind this attack.

Noble family mentioned was formed of the Faust family, father Jethro and daughter Mithra, as well as the Urthric family, father Logarth and wife Annabeth with their twin sons Nikoli and Jefferson, of the DeVayne Incorporation and other individuals to be named later. Each have disappeared without a trace and any hope of recovering their possessions is lost as the island volcano their dwelling resided on erupted in a most violent manner. Efficiently erasing the former geography of the island, above and below sea level.

There is also the matter of the Asylum of Saint Vero. The members of Militarum Tempestus Scions that survived the incident claimed to have heard screams and witnessed blue flames. Half of the cells underneath the asylum were opened but thankfully all specimens were accounted for. Subsequently all had to be put to flame as the Adepta Sororitas of the Order Hospitaller were witness to the specimens and became aware of their nature. A righteous Purge was initiated on grounds of Hereticus. No survivors. A Damnatio Memoriae has been issued as well to expunge all records of the Asylum of Saint Vero.

A third unknown party is suspected but no basis for this has been verified.

Possible asset, Adepta Sororitas of Order of Ash and Brimstone, was seen in mourning and approached by Interrogator Jhfreed Aschtants. Sister Dyahna Maythese had two blood female blood relatives amongst those purified by flame. Her cooperation, if erratic, will be helpful in the hunt for the _Holy Scripture_ and any impure who fled before they could be properly dealt with.

Requesting deployment of I-Corps C-102nd. They will be a valuable asset in the coming investigation through the sub-sector Andratis.

I will personally be leading an investigation into the matter and wherever it may lead.

Emperor Protects.

 

 

SENDER: Pax Dumontis Bytheum, House of Krin

DESTINATION: Inquisitor Kroft Howhlmun

SUBJECT: Reth Development (GRAVIS)- Responsum

SENT:  001.033-M42

RECEIVED:  001.033-1M42

MESSAGE FORMAT: Text-Scroll

ASTROPATHIC DUCT: Jenias Unrhan

 

Deployment of I-Corps C-102nd granted. They will rendezvous with your neophites and then join you at a port of your choosing. I-Corps are not for your amusement but for your benefit. Do not misuse their services in any way.

Find what you can about the missing noble families and the missing female Guardsman. If there is the possibility of a third conspirator there will need to be proof. Other parties will eventually receive word of your actions. Excuses must be well-planned lies.

I will see to the death of Kylax myself but I trust you with the other matters. If this is not dealt with soon then things will get out of hand. My House does not tolerate losses. Bargain with these raiders if you find them but if they prove resistant to bribes then purge them in the name of the Emperor.

As for the Adepta Sororitas, let her approach you. Her past needs verification and make sure of her interests. If nothing else slip a sliver of information to her. Enough to ignite her passion. All sisters of battle carry it in their hearts, they do not know it until it starts consuming them. A Seraphim of the Order of Ash and Brimstone would be a valuable asset indeed.

Send your reports via Imperial tithe-trader in the future. Delivered to the lower market holdings in the Golden Hand. My servants will bring it to me.

Vigilance and decorum, Inquisitor Nuluthane. Vigilance and decorum.

 

 

 

001.03M42

Metal and bone were not the best of mixing components. That and Marahn had almost zero experience working electronics. But this was something that he needed to do. It was an important part of his plan. So long as the servo-skull yielded to his frustrated attempts at alteration.

It was expected that he take up residence in the larger state rooms but some part of the Acolyte resented the idea of being put onto a pedestal. He was a sinner, not a saint. He was one of his crew. The only difference between them and him is that he knew where he was going. Theirs was the choice to follow him. And it was now his responsibility to take care of them.

A few more twerks of the pliers and his work was done. The Acolyte let go of the granule skull as it bobbed away from him. Even if he did not take the captain’s cabin he still set up in one of the officer’s rooms, and while they were not very comfortable they were spacious as well as sturdy. The captain’s cabin was left open for the meetings and any large events that were needed in the foreseeable future.

The servo-skull bobbed for a bit until before its grav control stabilized and it turned back to face him. Glowing lights emanated from the mechanized eye sockets, one red and the other aquamarine. Nodules and sensory antenna poked out from where the ears had once been. As for where the spine used to be only a few small mechanical arms twitching back and forth. No bottom jaw was saved and the only teeth that remained on the skull were the back molars. An interesting visage to be sure.

The Acolyte closed his left eye, and stared at the floating head. “Yes.”

“No.”

A mechanical voice but definitely male. Sounded mature, perhaps around the age of 50 or 40. _Might need to adjust the voice vox a bit for inflection._

“Good.”

“Bad.” The floating servo-skull replied.

The Acolyte opened his left eye again. “Perfect.”

Making no opposing argument, the servo-skull hovered intently looking at its owner.

“Master?” Sabrina’s strained voice echoed through the slightly furnished metal abode.

“Yes my dear?”

“Why did you spend so much time on that?” The end of her sentence was all but blotted out by a ‘MMPH’ at the end.

The Acolyte turned from his position on the bench to the currently strung-up Sabrina. Mithra was walking around the older woman, platinum hair tied back in a long pony tail and emerald green eyes keen in focused concentration. The noblewoman went about checking and retying the knots that kept Sabrina’s feet from touching the ground. All the while the former guardswoman was currently unable to speak because of the knotted cloth gag in her mouth.

Marahn-Marhna stood up from the bench and approached Sabrina. “For posterity my dear. For posterity.”

Formerly occupied by what the Acolyte presumed to have been Lieutenant, the room was bare as a skeleton when he had first taken up residency but that had changed. Though he owned very little, Marahn-Marhna made himself at home in this new environment. His new nest was more fluid than its bare walls now that the he had come. Lining the entry door were several book shelves constructed from dissected metal cabinets, seven high from floor to the door mantle. An acumen of the Acolyte’s seized knowledge. Among them were the likes of Eightieth edition Lectitio Divinitatus by Lorgar Aurelian, sector-subsector star maps from across the Calixis sector, and the diaries of the fomer Jethro Faust and Logarth Urthric. Beginnings of a fine collection no doubt.

As one entered, they would perceive a mechanical work benches to their right with a growing number of tool boxes and waiting half-finished products. Arraigned around the benches were the Acolyte’s weaponry from least to greatest, all carefully mounted on the wall not only for solid placement but for convenience in case the Acolyte wished to test one. Though few in number, the armory was sure to grow with time as their battles continued against the enemy.

To the left was a large bed that looked completely out of place in the utilitarian room. Lush bedding, the same sheets from the Dark Eldar ship, lay in waiting. Their memories stirred with the scent of lust in the room. Though the frame was of unextravagant construction it was more comfortable than cloud’s feathers. There was also a long trunk beside the bed that held all the sexual delights Marhna thought to keep from the Dark Eldar ship.

On the far wall lay a yet unused section. There a sealed aquarium sat glowing where two large eel-snakes from the lagoons of Reth stirred gently. Various boxes and jars sat unopened by two metal tables that were large enough to uphold giants.

A column of cords and ropes twisted down from the ceiling to the floor like an unused web in the center of the room. Some of which Mithra implemented now.

Marahn-Marhna noted, with some amount of pride, that the noblewoman was growing in knowledge in her art. Her knots grew more natural and her bindings fluid. She had several regulars whom journeyed from their own parts of the ship, not to share bed with her but to receive the blessings of Mithra’s constricting love. Sabrina, under Marahn-Marhna’s permission, was also a regular. The two of them shared a familiar nature and past. And in some respect they were as sisters. Each built strength on the other’s.

The only sounds that pervaded the Acolyte’s room was the muted hum of the servo-skull’s grav generator and the swishing of bound cloths strained by sweating flesh.

An alarm from the vox box broke the silence and the Acolyte rose to answer it. “Yes?”

“Bridge to Commander, there is an incoming vox message from an unknown frequency.” The high voice on the other side could be no other than the vox-man, Neirth. “They’re asking for you. Insisting, actually. Should I take that personally?”

“Did you remember to smile when you talked?” Maranh smirked.

Neirth was probably shuffling his boney feet. The man had operated the _Holy Scripture_ ’s vox communications and relays before the Acolyte came. In fact he was one of the primary reasons there had been no distress signal sent out, that and the captain’s arrogance. Neirth was a coward at heart and quailed at violence. In the days of the rebellion as fire and steel tore through the ship Neirth had been the opposing sides little bird. He sang as their leader, a former mechanic and a large man, enjoyed breaking Neirth’s ribs one by one. The Acolyte took great satisfaction as he burst his opponent’s head with a laser rifle at the opposite end of a long hallway. Welcoming Neirth into his fold was an additional blessing.

“Very well. I will be up to the bridge in a few.” Marahn-Marhna turned to see both Mithra and Sabrina staring at him, fully ready to be at his side if he wished.

A slight shake of the head and a barely raised hand stayed them from action. Acknowledgement flickered in their eyes despite their odd positions. Mirtha leaned in to whisper something in Sabrina’s ear, her platinum hair dipping down like a silver cascade. The former Guardswoman seemed to agree with the words spoken and tilted her head, exposing her pale neck.

The Acolyte gave each a kiss, Mithra on her cheek and Sabrina on her neck, before he left the pair to their play. Journeying up to the bridge the Marahn-Marhna passed many faces of his crew. Some old and some new, each was greeted by their leader with open embrace. No matter their station or their disposition they were received in joyous welcome. And they greeted him likewise.

On the bridge deck was the Herald, for the Daemonette had given no name, waiting for him with an interested look. The Unborn had known of his plan and like her progenitor she eagerly awaited the proceedings. Each deck hand busied themselves with fleet coordination and did not pay undo attention to their leader. They knew he depended on them and they depended on each other. In addition to their Cobra Destroyer, _Vicis Pretium_ , they had seized several transports and an armed freighter now christened _Bountiful_. Together the void faring cult plied the empty spaces of the Andratis sub-sector eagerly ambushing unwary travelers. Through their skirmishes they became more experienced, and the ranks of their family grew. All were welcome if they wished.

Now their leader stood on the bridge with a vox speaker in hand. His words would change the course of their fate or it would ruin them. Each cultist labored on despite the shadowing possibilities. They trusted in Marahn-Marhna and would honor his decision.

Making sure of his vox connection with one of the deck hands, Marahn-Marhna spoke into the handheld receiver with a small grin. “And whom may I ask do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“You would dare ask such an insulting question? I thought that a Mon-keigh of some whit would have the sense of etiquette.” A strong feminine voice rang like steal on steal in his ears, high gothic syllables with exotic undertones.

“You do have a point.” The Acolyte smirked a little, replying in the same high gothic. “Though I do wish to make myself clear. State who you are and how you came by this frequency. If your story holds true then something can be arraigned. Fair?”

A moment passed. “Very well Mon-keigh. I am Archon of the Dead Lotus kabal. Our warriors found this frequency on a raided Mon-keigh Dinne SoemIsh-soam. It allowed our raid to go smoothly. Now it is you who should identify yourself.”

 _Protecting Weapon-platform. Well they’re not wrong._ Marahn-Marhna suppressed a chuckle. “I am leader of a group interested in mutual benefits. I think you and I can work together, or rather we already work together.” The faint gasp of inward breath was barely noticeable. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask how your last few raids have been?”

Seething silence was the only reply for a few moments. “The raids have gone better than expected. There have been, openings in their defenses. Making it easier for the warriors to reach the surface.”

“Good. I am glad to hear that our efforts have not been in vain.” The Acolyte stared out of the bridge windows. “Let me get to the point Archon, I wish for a mutually beneficial pact between your kabal and mine.”

“And how would you propose such a thing be formed?” The hesitance in the Archon’s voice was to be expected. From what Marahn-Marhna managed to glean of Fallen Eldar society, he learned it was a formality to lie. Sometimes a necessity.

“I propose a meeting place. The Imperial world called Lehyde Ten should suffice. It’s a desolate world on the galactic east side of the Andratis Nebula. The only Imperial holding on the world is a small outpost. You will represent your kabal; I will represent my raiders. Does that sound fair to you?”

“You think me dumb Mon-Keigh? I will not blindly convene with an unknown enemy.” The reply was calm and hard toned. “Even if it was you and your raiders who aided us, why should I trust your words?”

“There is no assurance what I say is true but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I will wait on Lehyde Ten, on the side opposite of the Imperial station, for your arrival. There will be only one ship in orbit and I will bring a second as I anticipate you want one as well.” Marahn-Marhna shrugged at his distant caller. “Bring as many of your kabal’s forces as you feel comfortable. Bring all of them if that is your wish. But I wish only to confer with you, their Archon.”

More silence. “You set yourself up well leader of raiders. I anticipate your presence and will select my second.”

“One more thing most gracious Archon.” The Acolyte interrupted for a moment. “Perhaps I do not have to warn you that your kabal’s presence is the only welcome one. All others will be considered hostile parties. Do you understand?”

“You do not dictate the terms raider. I will do as I please.” The Archon paused for a moment to let her words sink in. “We will meet you on your little planet.”

The vox connection cut off with an audible snap of electric buzz. Calmly, Marahn-Marhna lent the vox speaker back to Neirth before taking a seat in the captain’s chair. They had a perilous journey ahead of them, and perhaps an even more dangerous congress at the end.

“We sail for Lehyde Ten!”

 

 

SENDER: Interrogator Jhfreed Aschtants

DESTINATION: Office of Rykehuss, Witchhunter of the Ordo Hereticus

SUBJECT: Purification of Reth (SUSPITIO)

SENT:  001.033-4M42

RECEIVED:  001.033-7M42

MESSAGE FORMAT: Holo-vid

ASTROPATHIC DUCT: Malagl Nerithan

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Suffer not the doubter nor the doubt

There appears to be something stirring in the works sire. Something dark. The purified diviners see black mists sweeping through the sector from the Josian Reach. I have suspicions that the unleashing of Chaos on Reth was the work of some foul being. This thing seeks to undermine our worlds and their order.

I spoke to a sister of the Order of Ash and Brimstone and it seems to confirm my suspicions. There is evil afoot and it walks abroad. It has already taken the life of Kylax Andromidez and the valiant Tempestus Scions who guarded the underground vault, Emperor’s mercy be upon them. It unleashed the experimental horrors within the depths of the Asylum of Saint Vero, desecrating the temple of purity.

Even now as I send this message to you there are raids being conducted throughout sub-sectors Andratis, Drusus Marches, and the Josian Reach. The cause or perpetrator of these deeds that rob our beloved Imperium of its resources have yet to be confirmed. But I maintain that these are the work of a fiend who consorts with the Ruinous Powers.

With your blessing I seek to hunt down this beast and purge it from our sector and our beloved Imperium!

Emperor Protects!

 

 

 

001.03M42

As promised there was only one ship in orbit as the two parties convened on the swampy plains of Lehyde Ten. Rusted hummocks shadowed the terrain, left-over remains of twisted terraforming machines. Only the Imperial observatory station had the capacity to be alerted to the gathering presence but they were oblivious to anything and everything at the current moment.

The Archon of the Dead Lotus was a tall, lithe woman whose muscles like corded ceramite beneath her ghostplate armor. Dark Hair with faint streams of blood red highlighting the tips fell down from a loose braid to her waist. A pair of lacerai were sheathed in an over-under type scabbard on her left hip, red-green ribbons fluttering from the decorated hilts. Her black eyes burrowed deep into the pale skin of her sharp skullish face flickered here and there. Ever alert. A former brothel worker she had slit an unruly patron one night and was kicked to the street. Slowly she worked her way through the ranks of the Commorragh to be a Succubus. But for the past several centuries she has led a small kabal named the ‘Dead Lotus’. Her calculating and patient disposition has kept her kabal from being trampled entirely.

At her side was her second, Anastari N’zhatharyth Arten, dressed in light armor. The pale, auburn haired Eldar stood like a statue despite the buffeting wind. And like stone she would stay until the word of her Archon unleashed her upon the Dead Lotus’s enemies.

From the distance a pair of figures approached, one tall the other short, and as they approached their features became more distinctive. Pail flesh mostly concealed under heavy but decorative cloaks to ward away the wind. One looked to be blonde while the other’s hair was silvery in color, and as they came closer their differences became more and more apparent. The golden haired short one was but a child, only a few heads high at most and barely into his first decade or eta. The girl could not be much older though she was taller and carried an air of nobility about her.

“I am Ard Khairyn, Archon of the Dead Lotus.” Khairyn called out as the other party walked up to them; she stared at the silvery-haired girl. “What terms did you wish to discuss, leader of raiders?”

Wind rushed past them in waves and the rustling of long grasses marked their passage.

“Ahem.”

Archon of the Dead Lotus kabal turned, confused, to the origin of the lyric voice. The golden haired child gazed up at the Dark Eldar without fear or restraint. And for the first time Ard Khairyn felt the powerful authority that gently coursed through his being.

“I believe you mistake my second Mithra for myself.” A delicate hand reached up to allow slender fingers pull back the hood. “I am Marahn-Marhna, leader of raiders.”

The child, no older than 12, gave a nodding bow. Feminine features aligned under pale skin, perhaps too pale, though the protruding throat-bone was evident enough. Boy though he was, the child exuded maturity and the Archon distrusted the thought that one so young would be the leader of beings older than himself.

“Cresistauead?” She murmured to herself more that to Marahn-Marhna.

The Acolyte nodded and replied in the Commorite’s own tongue. “Human, yes. We both are.”

Dark eyes narrowed and Anastari’s thumb twitched. “You know our language. The words of old flow like dust from your lips but you speak it better than most. Better than any of your kind we have encountered. How did you learn such things and what else have you stolen from us?”

“Nothing that can be physically given.” Marahn-Marhna replied as the conversation continued in the Eldar language. “As for words that I speak and know, a little bird told me.”

Ard Khairyn ran her thumb down her jaw as if in contemplation. Half a kilometer behind them Hezhakiyel Dorch saw the signal from his Archon and aimed his dark lance, the only one the kabal possessed, at the young boy. Normally it would have been Anastari behind the scope and barrel of the potent weapon but the Archon had insisted on using the former craftworlder as a means to ease negotiation. The raven woman was a show piece, something to distract the other party as their Archon took advantage of them. Evidently it had not gone as planned. Thankfully Hezhakiyel was not alone. Just a few meters to the Archon’s exposed left side was Ky’leth Buanial. Though he was a pain to operate with the trueborn had natural skill. Hezhakiyel just hope the ‘entitled’ brat would not do anything foolish.

The Acolyte held all the attention in the conversation, and perhaps half the cards. “The terms I wished to discuss was the nature of our relationship.”

Khairyn frowned and arched a brow. “What would that be?”

All present noticed she almost added ‘welp’ to the question.

“Your kabal is not large, correct?”

Another twitch.

“And it is not well renown, correct? Smaller kabals such as yours often are stamped out because of the conflicts between larger houses.”

The Archon resisted the urge to strike the impudent human where he stood.

“Yes.” She hissed loud enough to be heard.

The Acolyte looked into the Eldar’s eyes. “I want to change that. For a price I will coordinate my attacks with yours. Your raids and my own will act hand in hand. What you take will be yours to keep. Slaves, resources; anything you so wish to plunder. My people will take whatever yours will not and will act as lookouts for enemies.”

“And what would one such as you receive from this alliance?” Khairyn did not like the way this was going. Her skin crawled with danger and her senses screamed the cries of ambush.

“Only a few things. I request the ability to trade with your people, specifically your kabal. If there is a matter of the Dark Eldar that interests me I will ask of your people though whether they answer or not is their own decision. My troops will field adjacent to your own warriors. They will coordinate together but never as the same unit. I wish for us to be friends so if there is any aid I can give to your people my ship remains open to your company though I sense you will decline this offer.” Marahn-Marhna paused. “And most of all, I wish us to be allies and not enemies. It would pain me to lessen the number of an already dying people.”

“Nil ann ach cleasai agus tá an iomad measa aige air féin.” Anastari whispered just loud enough for her Archon to hear her.

 _The trickster thinks too much of himself_. _Perhaps._ Khairyn ran her finger along her jaw. “Why should my kabal risk themselves for a pact such as this? The only thing we inherit is the bounty we already take. There are plenty of worlds to raid and more Mon-Keigh to enslave.”

“True.” The boy nodded. “But not to the capacity that your numbers will grow. You kabal is small because it lacks resources and fame. If one were to gather more resources they would gain fame. Your influence would be greater and your warriors stronger, better equipped. The Dead Lotus would be Eosik, fearsome.”

“Your words are honey Cresistauead. But there is no reason to trust you.” The Archon’s eyes darkened. “Why should I?”

“You cannot.” The boy replied as if it were that simple.

Slowly his thin fingers grasped the collar of his cloak and pulled it down to reveal his pale, narrow chest. Upon his breast lay a pink rune, the mark of the enemy.

Ard Khairyn’s eyes widened in shock as she whispered in disbelief. “Murekhalir.”

The ‘Deathbringer’. Abomination of all beings. She Who Thirsts.

The Dark Eldar’s second unsheathed her wych knife in a scream of fury and hate. Like the wind she was, her knife’s cruel curved tip aimed at Marahn-Marhna’s weak chest. Khairyn was too deep in shock to fully comprehend what was occurring. Never in her years had she prepared for this. A worshiper of She Who Is Not Named was in striking distance of her arm. Had bartered a deal and wanted to negotiate a pact between her kabal and his raiders. The thought of it paralyzed her and froze her being to the hardened core.

But none save Mithra foresaw what happened next. Many humans maintain that the Eldar have an unnatural grace about them; their movements lithe and elegant despite not showing a modicum of effort. As well as their speed being unmatched by any mortal man or woman. Yet on the wind swept plains of Lehyde Ten, the feeble looking child side-stepped the oncoming blade as if he had anticipated its path long before. He crouched down and pushed up into the lunging second. His left palmed just under her ribs at the center and his right chopped where her neck met her shoulder. The raven woman lurched to a halt, her breath leaving her in an instant as the small human held her up.

From over the collapsed Eldar’s shoulder blue-grey eyes stared into Ard Khairyn and bore into her being. “Know this Archon of Dead Lotus. When I make a promise, I keep that promise. And when I give my word that I will not betray your kabal to my god Slaanesh, it will be so. That is my oath.”

Before Anastari could recover to plunge the wych blade into his back, the boy brushed away her arms from the shoulders and pushed her back. Marahn-Marhna stood the unclaimed victor, penitent and unwanting.

“You said we cannot trust you, yet our give your word.” Khairyn’s voice stirred. “So what would you swear on that we would ally together?”

“Bionearath.” Marahn-Marhna affirmed.

 _Potency held in check._ The Archon frowned. She knew the word well, often having to beat it into her warriors. Discretion was better than bravery. And the boy who was claimed would swear on this, but she knew it meant an entirely different idea. It meant the raiders would resist their temptations, the voice of She Who Thirsts, telling them to slaughter her kabal at the first chance. They would defend her kabal to the last breath if it meant keeping this promise. The boy’s body and tone spoke this.

“We will need time to decide upon this amongst ourselves.” The Archon of Dead Lotus intoned, ordering her second back with a flick of the wrist. “Do not search for us. We will find you.”

The Acolyte bowed his head in respect, golden locks swirling faintly in the calming breeze.

“If we reach a consensus that favors you proposal my second will be my envoy.” Ard Khairn, leader of the Dead Lotus kabal, turned away with much on her old mind.

“As you wish.” Marahn-Marhna replied before something else popped in his head. “One more question, if that is not too presumptuous of me, Archon Khairyn.”

The Dark Eldar leader swiveled her head. “What is it?”

“What do you know Iadanna of the region?”

 _Pirates?_ The Archon frowned. “You’re looking at them.”

“Ah, forgive me. Corsairs. Outcasts.” Marahn-Marhna gave a friendly little smile. “Do you know of them?”

Anastari visibly bit the corner of her lip and Khairyn’s frown deepened.


	2. Void Choir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished chapter two, only ideas after this.

Those were the times that were young. Full of discovery and adventure. Though not without darkness, their impressions comfort my cold soul even now as they did in the millennia past. Gladiatorial tactics against eclipsing darkness. The strive to fight and overcome oneself, and destiny laid out by others.

 

 

 

001.04M42

The Acolyte enjoyed the sunshine as cool wind seemed to blow faint clouds overhead and endless seas of grass waved beneath. Before long he spotted who he was searching for. He walked gaily up to the floating woman, her eyes closed in deep concentration and a large felid under her crossed legs.

Taking a seat on the smooth grass, the Acolyte waited patiently with back straight and eyes almost closed. Content to merely wait for the woman to speak the first word. Unlike its master, the felid’s golden eyes never swayed from the Acolyte. Tuft peaks stood erect in the wind as the brown animal poised motionless amidst the sea of green. Marahn-Marhna let a subtle smile curl the edges of his thin lips and basked in the energies that orbited around the powerful Eldar.

Her blue robes, emblazoned with numerous golden runes and silver sigils, fluttered in the wind over her wraithbone armor and harbored soulstones glimmered warningly. A spear slowly revolved around her as if it had a mind of its own but the Acolyte knew better. Between her resting hands energy crackled and pulsed to form archaic runes for a mercurial moment before dissipating in the next. From the back of her clothes a pair of metal wings or pylons grew, each marked with Eldar script that was beyond the Acolyte’s ability to translate and her shoulders were guarded by further armor set with violet stones encircled with runes. Her shoulder length dark hair fluttered in concert with her fur-lined collar pulled up against the wind.  But despite her statutes marking her as a Farseer for an unnamed craftworld, the woman before him was a Void Dreamer of great skill banished to the path of an outcast untold years ago.

“You have audacity to appear before me, servant of the Great Enemy.” Her voice echoed the power she wielded and thrummed like thunder over the grassy plane.

At her feet the felid stood as a statue. If one were to look at the creature they would think it had not moved from its sitting position before, merely transitioning from one state to the next. The spearhead crackled with energy as blue filaments of unreality rippled along its edge.

Not speaking a word, the Acolyte waited still.

As did the Void Dreamer, the silence between them rolling onward untouched by the passing wind. Soft feet touched the ground as the Acolyte barely saw the movement between his almost closed eyelids. There was a crackling at his ear and he knew the woman’s spear was centimeters away from cleaving his flesh. It would have been as easy as a butcher carving a beast, but the mortal strike never came. Instead the threat hovered there as a reminder.

“I do not suppose the Great Enemy has taken your tongue?” The woman spoke again. “Or perhaps given one that would best be kept within your foul mouth?”

The Acolyte did not move. He sensed the odd pause as the woman considered his presence. The absurdity of one such as he presenting himself for execution in such a manner. It beckoned questions even to her mind.

Warmth burned in front of him and the Acolyte did his best not to flinch at the discomfort it sent through him. “Very well then, but know if a fraction of you attempts to take me I will send you with haste to She Who Thirsts.”

He opened his eyes to see the woman, or rather himself, framed with burning orange runes. To his surprise, her eyes were soft brown wells full of knowledge and understanding beyond his comprehension. She was old, perhaps older than any mortal he had met before, and a warrior by how she carried herself. One who had seen the horrors of war. Looking at her renewed the Acolyte’s strength and gave him hope that his mission could indeed be accomplished.

“I wish to gird myself in the knowledge of the great ones so that I may break the eternal chains of hunger.” Blue-grey eyes glowed in the light of the runes.

Not breaking her passive composure, the woman formed a new sigil in the air and pushed its smoky blue form into the others. With inlaid spells set she turned her attention to the Acolyte again. Even though she kept her face calm there was no doubting her concern. It was in the air as sure as the scent of dampened grass. Her felid rubbed against her leg and gave an affectionate, rumbling purr. However, not even those golden eyes broke from the Acolyte.

It was several moments before the Eldar woman spoke again. “And what does a slave of She Who Thirsts have to gain from one such as I?”

“Time.” The word rolled off his tongue like honey and caused the woman’s face to twitch ever so slightly. “Time sets events that will unfold.”

“You speak of things to come or things at present?”

“Of these, they are the same.” His eyes focused beyond the runes to the endless blue above. “Fate is an ever present thing after all and something none of us can avoid in entirety.”

Her lips curled almost imperceptibly in a sneer. “And you seek to widen your own path of fate by stealing the disciplined arts of another?”

“Not for me.” His blue-grey eyes returned and locked with her own. “For others, for the many who will come after and later.”

The woman’s eyes flickered and lids twitched.

“We are bound by the powerful beings and though I am chained to eternity with my god, it cannot last forever. The cycle will eventually falter in some way and something will break loose. I imagine you have some inkling of this. At the moment the hunger within screams at me to take you for everything you are worth, but this I will not do for one simple reason.” He could tell his words were digging into her, cutting deep, but she had heard other words before. This was a time for the truth.

The Acolyte stared into the woman’s eyes. “I seek a means of ending what was once begun.”

“Your words are pure.” She spoke, a hand reaching for the haft of her spear. “But sweeter things have come from the mouth of the Great Enemy.”

“Then end me,” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “If I cannot convince the powerful of a hunted and hated race then who am I to set the course for my own?”

Hissing, the spearhead moved away from his throat. He heard its terrible thrum through the air and the sizzle of an incoming strike. But it never came.

“If I were to teach you such things, how would you use them?” Her voice was hard but calm. “How would you pervert the arts I have labored over for many of your generations?”

The Acolyte took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “For now, I would fortify myself against the daemons of the alternate reality. To instill a semblance of order where chaos seeks to reign fully. Through this I would nourish my strength and grow in wisdom that I may honor debts given. Give meaning where none have thought to place.”

“You would do this for others?” By the sound of her voice the Acolyte knew she sensed his connection with his crew and with his closer allies. “To empower them?”

“To protect them.” He answered.

“Even in this turmoil you seek to shelter those you love.” She finished for him. “A deep love no doubt. But you know this will not last. So you seek ways of sealing it within yourself that the well may never run dry.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It must. One day. But until then I shall do everything within my power to guard those I care for. I owe them that much. What is life without relations? It lacks meaning, depths, or truth.”

She took a moment to study the odd person. “Truth. A fickle thing even amongst my own people. Yet you, a servant of the lawless ones, claim it as an absolute.” A moment’s pause and another breeze passed by. “I accept but have absolutes of my own.”

The Acolyte waited and noted that she was silent for a time. An opportunity such as this did not happen. Not ever before he imagined. Like an animal going against its own nature or a tree growing away from the sun. But a moment like this was not to waste. Not now, not ever.

“Surely you are not just one, where are your others wandering about?”

“The other side of this world. Static orbit.” He responded. “They wait until I call for them.”

“Very well. Then let us begin our first lesson.” The woman sat cross-legged in front of him. “Hear my instructions and follow them to the letter for your life depends on it. You have no doubt felt the raw power of what your single-minded people call the Empyrean. However, you have no knowledge of how to craft it. Now, make a cage within a cage.”

The Acolyte nodded and closed his eyes. He had never tried taking the untouchable to wield but he had seen it done before. And witness the Commissar’s acts to ensure it would not destroy others. Marahn-Marhna gently pushed those thoughts aside to empty himself. In his thoughts he formed a black, circular void. A bubble of nothingness where every outside thing would not interfere.

Harsh electricity arched up his feet and he hissed in pain, keeping his eyes closed.

“You are strong for your kind, and one so young as yourself. But strength alone will not save you. Nor will your ties with the living or dead.” Her voice was harsh but instructing. “You have none of these to guide you. The fiber of your being is a wisp amongst the many dangerous things that lurk in the corridors beyond the mind. But it can be strengthen and reinforced until it stands as an unperishable mountain. All our children are taught from birth to do this, but you will have to learn the hard way. Make a cage-.”

The Acolyte hissed as another volt went through his being.

“Within a cage.”

Once again he retreated to the void within only to be shaken from his repose. The woman would not let him rest or concentrate long enough to gain solidity before dashing his attempts in painful ways. As his trials continued, the Acolyte felt the heat of the sun sink lower and lower. Neither he nor the woman stopped for the sun or the stars. Minute after minute he struggled.

“You have remarkable resilience for a lowly Mon’Keigh. I presume this is because of your past. A dead diseased mother is a hard thing to overcome.” Her voice seemed to ring within his own mind.

He did not rise to the bait, instead focusing on emptying himself and forming a blackened pearl within. The Acolyte could almost feel her inside his head, moving about like a seamstress tugging at strings.

Marahn-Marhna almost took hold of the thought, he had never heard the word before, but let it flutter away like the others. No pondering now, just concentration and meditation. A lance of heat burned at his shoulder but the Acolyte refused to acknowledge it. He was beyond the reach of these things, but another prick of pain swelled at his neck. His lungs felt heavy and his breathing became hard. Still Marahn-Marhna struggled on.

There was deeper meaning to the drowning pain. His body shook and quaked like a leaf in the wind, but he shut it out. Throbbing black static ate at his mind and the dark pearl until there was little left but ringing. Marahn-Marhna knew he had passed out as the black slowly faded. For how long only the woman would know.

“There is another condition to my teachings.” She spoke through the haze. “In addition to never harming the people I care for, you will carry out tasks I give you and be subservient to me. A time may come when I task you with the elimination of certain persons. This you will do without question or hesitation, no matter what conflict of interest you may find yourself in. Nod if you understand Mon’Kiegh.”

The Acolyte nodded, his body numb.

“Good. Then let us continue. Make a cage within a cage.”

 

 

001.04-9M42

Blue light eclipsed the golden-purple sunset as the last Eldar ship slipped seamlessly back into the webway. Marahn smiled in the grass as he heard the Aquila Lander rumble into a landing. There was a hiss of an opening door and the subtle rustle of grass.

“Did she not want to stay?” Mithra’s calm voice was a welcome balm to Marhna’s worn psyche.

The Acolyte lazily pointed at where the ripple in reality had closed. “There is an accord between the two of us. However, there are other things to do than to teach a lowly child. And we all have people to look after.”

“Indeed.” The noblewoman’s emerald eyes glittered in the fading rays of the sun. “Our newfound compatriots have yet to contact us.”

“Give them time.” Marahn got to his feet. “If anything this moment of reprieve will be welcome before what comes next.”

“As you say.”

Acolyte and noblewoman turned as one and returned to the Aquila Lander in silence. Taking their seats, Marhna enjoyed the view of the deserting sun as it sank below the horizon only to become visible once more as the aero-void craft rose through the atmosphere seamlessly. Steering to the night-side of the planet, the sun sank to darkness and in the black a ghostly procession of lights became apparent. The _Vicis Pretium_ , home to over six thousand souls, lurked as a quiet predator in the shadow of the planet. And beside her the armed freighter _Bountiful_ was docked slightly behind with the two transports at the rear.

Marhna took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Besides, they’re somewhat a trustworthy lot considering what we have to offer.”

“They are not trustworthy considering what we cannot offer.” His own voice contradicted him.

The Acolyte opened his eyes and smiled at the staring servo-skull, its mechanical arms twitching back and forth where the spine once had been. Glowing visual receptors stared back in red and aquamarine.

“Hmm. I miss you too.” Mararhn smiled and tapped the bare forehead with a slender finger before turning his attention back to the _Vicis Pretium_. “But we have work to do. There is something I wish to investigate.”

“Oh?” Mithra let the question hang in the air as they entered the destroyer’s dock bays.

The Aquila Lander returned to the new crew of the _Vicis Pretium_ working perhaps more jovial than before. A loud clunk signaled touch down and the pilot, a wiry and white haired man named Truff, shut the lander down in sequential order.

“There are written entries of a world called Grangold, do you know of it?” Marahn-Marhna unbuckled his harness with Mithra as the pilot gave them the all-clear. “Thank you.”

“It sounds familiar.” Mithra nodded, curling long strands of platinum behind an ear as she followed him out of the doors to be greeted by the eager crewmen. “My father mentioned it several times before in passing but I am unsure what the greater meaning.”

“Welcome back!” A bay worker they called Scarppy for his rough skin slapped the Acolyte on the shoulder.

Another called from behind them where he attended the Aquila Lander. “Did you learn anything from that pointy ear?”

“A few!” The Acolyte called back with a wave and a smile. “Happy to be back Scarppy, you haven’t eaten too much have you?”

“Never such a thing! A good meal’s always welcome t’me!” The man beamed.

Others called and greeted the returning master as Marahn-Marhna walked further into the ship. With leaps and bounds his gathering had grown. At first he lead only two others save for himself. Now he was the head of a small fleet of people. A large family to be sure and lots of mouths to feed. The transports he had taken had enough supplies to last them for a while but Marahn-Marhna knew that they would take to raiding. If not to restock their own rations then to sate the hunger of the void or to defend their newfound life.

As they took a lift up to one of the bridge the Acolyte stared at nothing in particular, the hum of the servo-skull filling the silence until he spoke again. “From what I have read the world is little more than a toxic waste with storms of acid raining on the ground. Pitiful few live there and the only off worlders who visit only one place, a shrine of sorts. It is the shrine that peaks my interest.”

The door opened and the bridge lay before them. A few dozen people filtered back and forth either combing through data or further customizing their beloved ship to better suit their needs. Marahn-Marhna stalked to the captain’s chair and addressed the bridge personnel. A flurry of activity bustled on the bridge as the crew sought to prepare for their leader’s command.

“Send word to the fleet, we sail for Grangold at once.” He called out, waving an arm at the edge of his seat. “Call up the charts.”

Green and golden holograms came to life in front of the Acolyte as the lights on the bridge dimmed. From their little harbor in this smaller system it was a short ways to Grangold and would hardly take any time. Lines connected the two and Marahn-Marhna smiled. Navigator Selaphiel Voyshiad was hard at work in his station, leading the Astropaths and Navigators of the _Vicis Pretium_ along a path through the stars. Even if it was the Acolyte who said where they went it was Selaphiel who guided them.

“Another visit to Imperial held territory?” A husky, rasping voice came from behind.

“Are you doing well Grinich?” He asked without looking. “Concerned for my welfare?”

The psyker formerly of the Imperial Guard gave a chuckle that sounded like logs grinding together. “Just wishing you the best. This venture of yours has brought all of us far and yet we seem to be unable to completely escape the grasp of those who imprisoned us. Odd is it not?”

“As are many things that we do.” Marahn-Marhna answered without looking. “Don’t you agree Herald?”

“Coordinates locked in.” A calm voice intoned over the vox.

“Mmm.” The daemonette’s silken voice purred at his left shoulder. “Perhaps more than many other beings I suppose, yes. But delightfully so. Our Prince delights in your odd ways.”

“Hmm.” The Acolyte smiled. “I bet the Prince does indeed.”

Unseen, Grinich coughed in the background. “If that will be all, should I prepare for our venture?”

“If you must, though I do not think it will be for a little while. Our dark-minded elders seemed to have met something that troubles them.” Marahn-Marhna’s blue-grey eyes never left the large spherical charts. “Do not worry about being found my friend, we are just another convoy in the endless reaches of space. What harm can we do?”

“What harm indeed.” Grinich chuckled as he retreated into the halls of the destroyer.

“Activating war drives.”

“Now the question is-.” Slender arms wrapped loosely around the Acolyte’s small, narrow shoulders. “Why did you not invite me to your little party?”

He smirked as he felt the daemonette’s sweet breath on his neck. “You don’t know?”

“Should I?” The Herald pressed.

“Hmmm.” The Acolyte smiled even more. “Then I suppose it will be one of those things you will have to find out. Like a surprise.”

“Warp drive ready, jumping on your orders.” One of the deck hands called back.

“All ships, Jump!” Marahn-Marhna called.

Reality parted and the view shields slammed down to keep the bridge intact. All went silent as the four ships seemed to hover in time and space as their engines grew brighter. Eldritch lightning curled and beckoned from the yawning portal of immaterial substance. Then all of a sudden they were yanked by invisible calls into the Warp, leaving no trace they had been there before.

 

001.04M42

On the banks of the River Kaides, an acid-green waterway bobbing with corpses that flowed through the Sprawls region of Cormmorragh, a ramshackle construct of buildings formed a chaotic hobble. Within its hold the young Kabal of the Dead Lotus took residence and held their small foothold in the dark city. Bare were their halls of glorious trophies. Anything they had was put to their real space fleet or to the next cooperative raid. Any chance to further their holdings within the already tenuous and shadowed city. Their archon, Ard Khairyn, sat at the head of a long table with her most trusted and capable warriors.

To her left sat Hezhakiyel Dorch, Khairyn’s trusted lieutenant. He had become famous in Cormmorragh by surviving repeated assassination attempts by the various Incubi shrines. His long silver hair almost glittered in the light, hiding more than one scar that marked where a blade had gotten too close to his neck. Dark eyes smoldered with mischief and dark mirth so that one might not know where the man was looking. A quick smirk tickled his thin lips as he sat easily in his chair.

Opposite of him was the Kabal’s elder of sorts. The oldest member of the Kabal save the archon herself, Nyme’th Zar had the honorable place as the defacto advisor and mediator for the Kabal of the Dead Lotus. His skin was noticeably dark for a Dark Eldar, or even an Eldar at all, leading younger initiates to gossip that he was as old as the dark city itself. The fact that he had fought under a thousand different suns and bore the scars to prove it was another matter. Silvery hair formed in straight lines down his jaw to his chin where the long beard was bound in a short braid, contrasting with his dark bronze skin. Whenever the old man had something to think deeply about he would often take to stroking his jaw or braided beard whilst staring into the distance.

Anastari N’zhatharyth Arten stood by archon Khairyn’s side. The second’s fate forever tied to the woman who had saved her from the slave pits of the Bloody Sleeve Kabal so long as Ard Khairyn wished it. And were it not for her skill, strength of arm, fastidious work for the Dead Lotus, and the word of old man Zar then she would be lost amidst the horrid devices of the Drukhari.

Fingers interlocked and thumbs supporting her chin, Ard Khairyn frowned at the dead space. “Choices? We have none. This impudent Mon’Kiegh has put incentive bait before us and made it nigh impossible to resist.”

“Could the Mon’Kiegh be disposed of?” Hezhakiyel inquired as he rolled a knife between his fingers.

“No.” Nyme’th shook his head. “It seems our best opportunity to do such has passed. The leader of raiders is cunning.”

“Few Mon’Kiegh are that cunning.” Hezhakiyel counter. “What does the Arten say?”

“Anastari?” The archon called for the second.

Kneeling at the Ard’s left, the Eldar bowed her head. “One who follows the way of She Who Thirsts is never to be trusted. But I am unsure I will be able to kill the leader of raiders. The first meeting was an opportunity that will not likely come again, as Nyme’th said. If the Dead Lotus takes to the field alongside then our warriors are open to attack. Their territory infringes with ours and sooner or later there will be blood.”

Hezhakiyal nodded in agreement. “Perhaps the raiders are the most capable of warriors, perhaps they are little more than rabble seeking blood. There is no way to know for sure. Both paths are fraught with danger. What is your answer, Ard Khairyn?”

The archon of the Dead Lotus sighed as she sat back into her chair. “Anastari, call to the leader of the raiders. Tell him of our next raid and pick the least trusted of our own ranks. If this is to be a massacre then I wish it to have some meaning.”

 

001.04M42

“And look what we have here.” The Acolyte smiled at the Herald’s glee.

The daemonette cooed and purred in delight at his side. “A wonderful little temple the lowly people dedicated to one of their illustrious saints. Quaint in how much they think of simple men empowered by simple things.”

Auger arrays from the Cobra Destroyer swept back and forth over the stormed landscape far below. Beneath the all-seeing eye of _Vicis Pretium_ the world of Grangold opened up. Nothing was withheld as the Acolyte surveyed all. Primitive dwellings to keep the acid soaked environment out, fortified shelters for the more fortunate or wealthy or traveling, and guards at the house of worship. Marahn-Marhna’s eyes shifted over the data. The _Vicis Pretium_ auger array read two dreadnaughts registered at the imperial shrine to Saint Drusus.

 _Interesting._ The Acolyte ran a thumb over his jawline. _Very interesting indeed._

However, apart from the suspiciously guarded shrine there was little else on the world of interest. The population of Grangold was pitifully low, only several hundred thousand at most, and the main people who lived there were either penitents or servants of. Grangold gave no tithe as it had no true population, it did not meet any production or agricultural need for the Imperium, and it most certainly was not remotely habitable by any means. Only the guarded, eroding remnants of the shrine to Saint Drusus was of importance. And the fact that it was guarded was in itself an oddity. By two Dreadnaughts of the Adeptus Astartes, the fable ‘Space Marines’, was an abnormality.

In the many battles he had been in, Marahn-Marnha had never seen the man-machines with his own eyes. However, he had heard stories from the veterans who would spin a tangled yarn or from the screaming priests afterward. They were righteous warriors or iron beings forged by the Emperor’s will depending on who told the story. One fact every person agreed upon was the righteous fury that they utilized in battle. If what the Acolyte heard was true then nothing short of several heavy tanks could defeat one of the Dreadnaught’s number.

 _However_. Marahn-Marhna smiled to himself. _If it can be killed then there is always a way._

A loud chime broke the stoic contemplation and one of the bridge hands called over his shoulder. “Receiving a vox call from a familiar channel. It’s the one we gave to the pointy-ears boss!”

“Eldar, my dear man.” Marahn-Marhna’s smile broadened. “They are the Eldar and our elders. We would do well to remember that. Open the channel.”

“Aye sir!”

Silence followed for several seconds before a voice graced the interior of the bridge. “Leader of raiders and cresistauead crew, the Kabal of Dead Lotus accepts your offer under pact agreed upon. You shall travel to the world we designate and strike at the places we indicate. Our warriors will join you once you have landed and started your attack, not before. I need not warn you of the consequences should you betray us.”

“Verily.” The Acolyte smiled at the familiar voice he had not heard since the jungles of Catachan. “Send us the coordinates and we will be there. Until we meet again, second of the Dead Lotus.”

The vox cut off with a snick. He cocked an eyebrow at the ashen planet below. Perhaps he would deliver the Eldar a gift to lighten her mood upon their next meeting. Alerts chirped and dinged as instructive directions flooded through to the Cobra Destroyer’s cogitators. Details and information flowing like a stream into the lake of knowledge. Holo-models of Grangold shrunk and a list of data streamed next to it as the lights dimmed within the bridge. Thinking machines of the _Vicis Pretium_ went to work and a new planet formed next to the first. Data list formed beside the formed sphere, a compilation of Imperium and xenos data, and the Acolyte casually surveilled it. A feral world in the Andratis sub-sector, Calixis Sector, Segmentum Obscurus.

Volonx was its name, according to Imperial records, and supported a large population of nomadic tribes. Though not as large as the pleasure citadels of Reth, these hordes or clans roamed from place to place to vie for resources. In part this was one of the reasons why their development into a stable people did not come about and also why any form of Imperial settlement had not taken root. According to the Dark Eldar’s information the locals were a vicious sorts who survived by their wits and who had recently acquired explosives of sorts from wayward traders. By their count the total population of the world was estimated at little over a million.

The planet held a variety of environments from sandy deserts to lush jungles and large seas. No oceans to speak of, however. A three hundred Terran day year orbit around the star with 29 hour day-night cycles. Tropospheric composition had a higher Oxygen content of twenty-three percent with seventy-six percent Nitrogen, and various other gaseous elements taking up the remaining one percent. Mixed environs also made the climatology and flow of hot and cold air differentiate profoundly. Moist and dry air circulated regularly around the planet with a mean temperature approaching an astonishing mean of twenty-five degrees Celsius. The Equatorial Circumference was calculated at 41833.3 kilometers with little over one graviton in pull.

However, the most interesting facts lay in the odd flora and fauna of the planet. Volonx Sand Shark was an adapt predator that hunted the desert areas of the planet. It’s reptilian-like body poised beneath the surface only to spring out if prey came near. And the Skem Plant, a virulently poisonous specimen which caused anaphylactic shock unless an antidote made from the plant’s own roots. Natives of Volonx utilized both of these to great effect. The long teeth of the Sand Shark were used as ‘daggers’ that could more appropriately be called short swords and the stems of the Skem Plant were used in capturing nets and teeth-sharpened bone bolas. The Acolyte’s mind wandered to the aquarium in his room and was eager to add to his collection.

On the holo-image of Volonx a sight was indicated in the lower hemisphere along a large river feeding along a plain between two large seas. According to the Dark Eldar’s information there would be temporary settlements there fresh for raiding. The Acolyte smirked and clasped his hands before him. There were villages to be pillaged and hearts to win.

“Make ready for warp travel.” He called to the bridge personnel as he gazed eagerly to the stars beyond his reach. “We sail for Volonx. Prepare the landers and the most able of our people. Have them gather their weapons of choice and assemble in the hanger. I will meet them there after the jump is made.”

“Aye sir!” Came the response.

The Acolyte walked up and put a gentle hand on Neirth’s shoulder. “Give a ship-wide call. Tell them we are on a raid with our allies, to be on their best behavior, and to prepare for new initiates.”

“As you say.” The thin man quaked a little but gave a half-hearted smile.

He was not the violent type, Marahn-Marhna understood that well. It was best for him that he stayed Master of the Vox. Or at least likened to that position. Heavy metal shutters closed the bridge and the rest of the ship from the outside world as word spread through the small fleet of their departure. Each vessel closing off viewports as they prepared to enter the warp. The _Vicis Pretium_ , the _Bountiful_ , and the two transports broke from orbit of Grangold with engines roaring in the void. Few, if any noted their departure, and would presume that the escort had been called to the next waypoint in its long travel around the Andratis sub-sector. With shutters sealed and gellar fields activated, the small fleet of heretics was once again pulled into an open puddle of a wound dripping in space.

Exiting from the room of dull glowing instruments and holo-displays, Marahn-Marhna left the bridge with the Herald only to delve further into the command center of the _Vicis Pretium_. His light footfalls took him down a spiral stairwell walled with elaborate petroglyphs raised from the metal. Down and down the pair walked for several thousand steps, the sound echoing around them as darkness claimed the light until a low moaning was heard beneath. Further down into what seemed the depths of a cavern, the metal stairs became rough as if hewn from stone and a loathsome green light pulsed from beneath. Marahn-Marhna slide away from the steps like a shadow with the Herald next to him. The expanse of the Navigator Hall was soaked in the sounds of droning machines and melancholy voices muttering indecipherable phrases. A pair of columns stretched to the blackened ceiling in paradox to the waterfall of metal wires and tubes flowing down their sides. Eight persons sat at the bases, four each sitting in chairs engraved with skulls and angels. Pale sweated skin seemed to glow in the greenish glow as endless data streams gushed from one holo-display to a metal viewport. Between the columns stood Navigator Selaphiel Voyshiad in long robes so he appeared as a tumorous shadow that had grown from the floor.

Around the pillars of certainty sat several members of the regular crew. Each waited in silence, resting before their chosen lover as they stayed patiently. When the Navigators and Astropath woke once more then they would be comforted from their waking dreams.

Selaphiel turned without looking at the Acolyte and Marahn-Marhna gave a respectful nod. A ghost of a smile hovered at the thin man’s lips as he turned his eyes forward once more and opening his all-seeing third eye. Marhna smiled as well and he padded softly around the two columns, murmuring words of appreciation to those that waited on the ship’s seers. Each smiled and gave small thanks in return. They were content in their dark world of stars and passion.

Content that all was well with his people, the Acolyte walked to stand next to Selaphiel with bare feet planted solid on the metal and he too gazed into the invisible beyond though not able to see with his eyes. Behind them the Herald waited contently, many eyes roving over the delicate morsels who pleased her lord so. Nothing was said between them as they stood within each other’s presence. Though he was not a tall man himself, Selaphiel towered over the twelve-year old Acolyte but there was most certainly a gap. Despite his stature and age there was no denying that the war-child was nothing short of astounding.

At first impression one might think him little more than an androgynous boy freshened up for the next noble who had requested him. Even Selaphiel caught himself in these misgivings. But one glance at the sharp blue-grey eyes spoke of many things unspoken. The Navigator did not know the battles or beatings that had made the boy, but was content with his firm promises that rang with heartfelt desire. Selaphiel the Navigator turned his attention back to the endless Sea of Souls. A crescendo of mutter choruses and phrases rose from the column sleepers and a chime rang throughout the ship.

“Exiting warp-space.”

In a held-breath second it was over. Their journey done. Closing his third eye, Selaphiel turned to the Acolyte. Grinding metal shuttles over the ship rattled as they opened to see the galaxy was yet alive and well. Volonx lay below the fleet as a pristine jewel ripe for the taking.

“To dark dungeons, ere traveled not oft. For souls of traveling damned dwelt, within walls of black sight.” The Navigator spoke. “What brings you, Acolyte of Prince of Pleasure?”

“A promise, friend Selaphiel, a request, and a boon.” Marahn-Marhna’s eyes glinted in the dark as he curled one leg cutely behind the other. “We travel through odd field in strange times. Enemies for allies and allies for enemies, my friend. We keep this one tight. The bird will fly if the trees rustle.”

“Awe the crowd and say your goodbyes.” Selaphiel smiled. “Enjoy the show while it lasts, dear leader.”

“Never any rest.” The Acolyte smirked as he turned back to the stairs.

Around them the dreamers woke with gentle kisses and soothing whispers. Darkness receded beneath the ascent of gilded metal as the Acolyte rose from the Navigator Hall and traveled to his own room. His Herald faithfully prowling behind him, ready to devour as soon as aid him. The door opened with a hiss and she entered with him. Sure of step, he walked over to the weapons rack and took his favored pieces. A Wych knife and Impaler taken from the Dark Eldar ship. He sat at the desk stool while lacing up his combat boots, slipping his baggy pant-legs into them. The knife he wore around his torso much like he had on Reth so it would be quick and accessible. Likewise the Implaler strapped to his back. The Acolyte did not bother throwing on a coat or a jacket as it would serve no purpose. He would rely on his instincts instead and chose a loose sleeveless-shirt.

Content with his gear, Marahn turned and exited his room to begin the descent to the bays of the Cobra destroyer. Mithra would not be joining them. Neither would Grinich or Selaphiel or the Herald. This would be only the choicest of warriors in a test of restraint. To see if ideals of a wandering cult were truly sound. If not then they were just wistful ideals the Acolyte postulated. They would face what they may well become and if they withstood it then their path was one step clearer.

 Elevator doors opened to the hangar bay and the pitiful handful of craft they had. Maintenance crews and servitors hustled about preparing the small aero-void craft for their voyage the best they could. Arvus Lighters, three in number, waited the coming mission and before them stood a circle of thirty-six of the best warriors the small fleet had to offer. Each was either a former Imperial Guard or a Naval Armsman, and had some experience in combat before the _Holy Scripture_. Sabrina, dressed in her old Luggnum Sewer Rat uniform complete with dark green Flak armor over her white shirt, stood ready with the rest of them as she checked and double checked her gear. Her dark blue-black hair was swept back by her Preysense goggles and a rebreather hung about her slender neck. She had burned the standard issue primer. Like the others she wielded a M35 M-Galaxy Short Pattern lasgun, the standard for most troops of the Astra Militarum, and a combat knife. A few others had either bayonets or a shotgun. There would be no need for grenades or other such useless items on this trip. Only cords of rope were carried alongside small bags on their belts. Anything they carried away from this raid would be scarce. The Acolyte had told them to take only what they could carry. Nothing more. In addition, they carried signal whistles that Marahn-Marhna had constructed personally. In the past he had seen their use by Commissars and the like to call charges on enemy trenches. However, the Acolyte would use their piecing sound for another purpose.

Marahn-Marhna greeted the steel-faced warriors, remembering the battles he had fought endlessly not too long ago. Wordless welcomes were exchanged and Sabrina pulled out a drawn map Mithra had given her of the area.

“Our targets are the settlements of a feral world but do not let that put you at ease.” The Acolyte’s blue-grey eyes meet those of his raiders. “These people survive through strength of arm and warlike cunning. Killing and battle are second nature to them. To underestimate their abilities is death. That being said, we are to serve as the huntsmen and not the rewarded. Our allies, the Dark Lotus, will take initiative and take what they wish. We will negate whatever shreds of resistance the tribes will put forward. Any major target or weapon wielding person or skilled combatant is a target. Unless they are engaged with the forces of the Dark Lotus kill them on sight. We will also provide a shield so that any who attempt to escape are pressured back into the Dead Lotus. Waste ammunition shooting into the air or the ground in front of them if necessary, but not too much. Understood?”

Silent nods rippled amongst the soldiers and Marahn-Marhna grunted in approval. “Good. Our ships will first enter static orbit so as to keep in constant communication as necessary. We will land a few kilometers to the polar south of the first settlement and head north. Many are located along bends in the river so we will use this to our advantage, circling around to the east, south, and northern peripheries of the camp. No one shoots until I do. After that, pick your targets. The Dead Lotus will sweep down from the south into the western side of the first camp.”

“Now comes the hard bit.” The Acolyte took a breath. “Though we are only raiding three camps, each is several kilometers apart. It will be a long night of running which is why I gave instructions before to only take what you can. Like the first, we will take the second camp from the south while the Dead Lotus take the sides. Run and fire if you can, or stop and fire before moving on. Don’t make yourselves stationary targets. Third camp will be the largest and most difficult. From the scans it appears to be the gathered forces of several tribes under a single warlord. There are lodges along the river that serve as a sort of barracks. Smaller tents surround this and a larger, central tent. We will be coming up from the south.”

Thin fingers ran over a slight bend in the river. “No doubt it will be exhausting and most of our energy will be drained from the long run. Take positions along the south and east along the river. We will commence fire at the lodges once in place. As I said before, pick your shots. Each dropped body counts. No doubt the rest will go to the center of the camp before departing to the west where the Dead Lotus will be waiting for them. Do not attempt to enter the camp or engage the warriors in hand-to-hand combat. Pick them off at a range. Leave the leader to the Dead Lotus but kill the others. Afterwards the Arvus Lighters will pick up us a few kilometers north of the camp.”

“Any questions?” Mute faces stared back at him. “Then one last thing, no matter what happens we are to maintain control of ourselves. This is a test just as all future battles will be. A test to see if passion controls us or we control it. What we do on the battlefield stays there and is apart from our conduct here. Restraint through will, my comrades. Bionearath.”

“Bionearath.” Each warrior repeated the strange-tongued word with respectful nods.

Warriors of the _Vicis Pretium_ turned to enter the Arvus Lighters, twelve to each. The Acolyte turned to the Herald, his blue-grey eyes looking at the daemonette without looking at her.

“Stay.”

Horned head bowed, the daemonette smiled. “Safe journeys to you.”

Smiling, the Acolyte entered an Arvus Lighter next to the smirking Sabrina. Like the ten other men in the wide interior, they took their seats beside one another as the shuttle doors clamped tight with a whine of pressurized atmosphere. Rumbling grey Lighters confirmed their exodus with the bridge and were out of the bay doors in a whoosh. Their side of the planet was still in the depths of night as three scarabs descended to the surface on thrusters and stunted wings. Marahn-Marhna and the fleet was fortunate enough to have a dozen capable flyers in their ranks. However, as he did not wish to endanger potential personnel, most of the pilots were relegated to stand-by duty. Volonx was their first official raid with new allies and dangerous ones at that. Though Marahn-Marhna had faith in his own promise, he did not wish to think of the consequences should the Dark Lotus turn on them. As such one of the pilots was a servitor from the _Bountiful_.

“Confirmation.” The Acolyte’s pilot called in inter-ship vox. “Visual sighting of Dead Lotus vessel to polar north of _Vicis Pretium_ position.”

The Acolyte closed his eyes to the dim interior lights and took a breath. Around him several clicks and rasps sounded as the warriors checked their gear one last time. Marhna curled a leg up so she could rest her chin on her knee. A wandering hand found Sabrina’s and the Acolyte gave her a gentle squeeze. The former guardswoman gave a squeeze in return.

Metal plates groaned and the whole shuttle shook as they entered the atmosphere. As per Marahn-Marhna’s instruction, the pilots made a slow descent so their metal hulls were little more than star-light shadows rather than burning meteors. Latter of which would have alerted the local tribes and that was something Marahn-Marhna wished to avoid. Their entry was to be unnoticeable as possible and cause their prey no concern. Minutes cycled by as the Acolyte waited patiently. In the half-light of the interior his form seemed to become less and less of note. Only Sabrina who sat next to him was keenly aware of his presence.

“Landing at designated zone.” The vox broke the spell and creaks of metal echoed with the spreading of landing gear

Cushioned spars settled their landing to a low creak and the shuttle doors opened with a hiss. They stood and shouldered their gear. Warm air and an open, star-filled sky greeted them as stumbling plains surrounded them. Dull roar of water could be heard below the sound of swishing grass and chittering night animals.

Taking the moment in, Sabrina enjoyed the moment while it lasted. Her eyes glittered back at the glowing host as she gazed up at the stars. Wind played with her blue-black hair and she could not remember a time when she felt more alive. She took in a breath, closed her eyes, and letting it out. Opening them again, she shouldered her lasgun and slipped her rebreather mask on before pulling down her preysense goggles. Commands were issued with silent hand motions and the troop split as three. Sabrina and ten others sprinted after the fleetlegged Acolyte northward. They would hold the position furthest from the landing zone for the first village. Two others would spread to the south and east along the bends in the river. Approximately twenty minutes to holding positions.

Lasgun in hand, the Acolyte hustled though the ankle-length grass with even breaths. Battle and war were old acquaintances to the one known as Marahn-Marhna, and his survival through many skirmishes had built many a deadly skill. Even though he was less of age and strength than most of his men, Marahn easily held his pace ahead of Sabrina and the others. Other teams would reach their points before his but that did not matter. This raid would depend largely on their ability to function as a loosely organized group, each person and squad adapting to situations as they came while focusing on the overall plan. It also would prove invaluable to create a fighting force that was adaptable in both void combat and surface raids. At the moment, none of the warriors from Marahn-Marhna’s fleet had only fought in the perilous surfaces of space. Gravitational fields within ships kept one grounded and healthy, but that was not a testament to strength on a planet surface. Volonx was the root of the Acolyte’s growing army. A foothold to the doors of a mighty hall that would, in time, sweep across the Imperium.

One last leg and the team of twelve arrived at a small hilltop overlooking the village from the northeast. As theirs had been the longest trek, the Acolyte could presume the others had taken position. Sabrina and the other warriors knelt or lay on the hilltop, drawing beads on the content village bellow as they adjusted to the best firing postures.

 _Best to give them a few more minutes._ Marhna thought to herself as she knelt on the swaying grass.

Wrapping the lasgun strap around his left arm, Marahn took firm hold of the rifle and waited. Around them sounds of nightlife swirled in a bumbling chorus of summer and not the obnoxious calls of spring. Scents of storms stirred on horizon promising rain in the next few days, and mixing with the smell of foreign flora. The Acolyte smiled in the dusk. It was time.

Firelight flickered among the tents. The tribe was small in number and five watchmen patrolled around the perimeter. Few but enough to raise the alarm if an invasive force ever came. Cries would sound and those that slumbered would be awoken to flee. It was a good practice for a primitively armed people. But it could have been better. After all, the Acolyte and his warriors had made it this close without detection.

Resting the stock against his shoulder and aligned the sights. He was sure to take out one of the other’s target’s with the first shot but that was the nature of things. Find a target that is not dead yet and kill it. Even now the thought brought a smile to Marhna’s thin lips. Squeezing the trigger, a lance of light hissed from the darkness of night. It struck one of the guards and pierced through his head. He tumbled to the ground without a chance to cry out. In that instant similar bolts of light stung from the black like angered spirits. With no more than a hiss the watchmen had been reduced to one. A guttural string of syllables roared through the night and the camp was alive within moments. However, even such preparedness would not save them.

While the young and caring rushed out of the tents, some came prepared for war. Any who wielded a weapon was struck down by a lance of light, leaving the putrid smell of burned flesh to rise in the night. Glimmering lights flickered like ghosts to the west and in an instant the night was swallowed with screams of the forsaken. The Acolyte motioned to cease fire and put the whistle to his lips, giving two long shrills. Four calls came in pairs and the warriors turned to sprint northward to the next village. Behind them hoots and calls from the ravaged tents mingled with horrified cries and wails of terror.

Unlike before, the village ahead would be more substantial and along the river. Marahn-Marhna and the others would regroup slightly south of the camp before charging in with lasguns blazing. Thankfully the wind blew from the east so none of the other villages had heard the disaster looming on the horizon. Marahn-Marhna stopped and stood still as he let his body catch up to the sudden stop. Sabrina and the rest of his own team came up behind. Blue-grey eyes measured them in the darkness and found their performance admirable. Their run had taken them at least a kilometer from the last village but they were breathing in controlled pants. Far from the militant elite, but looking at them Marahn-Marhna could not help but feeling proud. Team two joined the first followed by team three.

The Acolyte crouched as he surveyed the firelight illuminating the tents below. Almost the same as before watchmen patrolled the perimeter, but this time there were more tents and armed guards stood next to their wary comrades.

Leaning forward, Marahn-Marhna shot forward from a crouch leading the tip of the spear straight for the heart of the tribe. Grass and air hissed past them and the rustle of metal hinges echoed their arrival. As the approached the Acolyte slung his lasgun around his torso and slid his Wych knife from its sheath at his chest. Rushing in, the watchman directly in front of him barely turned before the Acolyte leapt into the air. But it was too late. The androgynous youth drove his blade through the sentry’s neck as the weight of his small body smashed into his chest and shoulders. Impact threw the dying man off-balance as the Acolyte’s weight carried his upper body over his center of balance. Lances of light illuminated the night behind as the man fell to the ground and Marahn-Marhna rolled away to his feet without a break in pace.

Only a half-step marked a change of pace as he pulled the lasgun from his shoulders and took the grip in his left. He shot a warrior through the chest and neck, hustling forward into the depth of the village tents. Another guardian opened a tent flap to his left only to have his throat slit by the passing Acolyte. Him and his warriors worked their way through the camp like starved dogs. Each watchman and guard was silence by the blasts of light. Smells of burnt flesh and the hiss of light-fire woke some inhabitants and any who raised a hand in resistance were cut down where they stood. On the other side the Acolyte gave too long shrills as his warriors prowled out the hobble of tents, none missing and a trail of bodies in their wake.

No sooner had they turned and hustled north than the same eerie screams and horrid cries rose behind them. Sabrina and the others kept their eyes forward and followed their leader. One more village and their mission was complete. Each of them was tired from the night’s activities. Their legs ached with the running and though they had yet to lose a comrade, their constant vigilance wore on their concentration. Despite the fatigue he surely felt, their leader ran ahead of them and gaining ground with every step.  And the faithful crew in turn hurried after him.

Several kilometers north of the second village, the last and most populated settlement lay on the other side of the river. Lodges erected from toughened hide and lofted tree trunks lay near the banks while smaller tents conformed around them. Up the slope of the floodplain a large tent for the chief and his retinue stood at the head of the two barrack-lodges. This one was more fortified than the last with numerous guards and watchmen. Torch-poles had been stuck in the ground to ward away the night. Sharp-ended posts had been driven into the ground surrounding the camp and no doubt there were several hastily created pit-falls dug around the perimeter. The Acolyte stopped and held up a closed fist in the darkness. His warriors stopped behind him heaving deep breaths. Wiping his Wych knife on his pant leg, Marahn-Marhna scanned the area with his bare eyes.

The floodplain spread for several hundred meters on the east side of the river due to the bend and flow. However, the camp sat on a slope with the main tent and several dozen surrounding it resting at the top. While Marahn-Marhna did not like his people being out in the open the direct line of fire was sufficient compensation.

Motioning the others to him, Marahn-Marhna gave instructions in hushed towns and pointing gestures. The three teams would attack the east side of the camp and target the barracks. One would cross the river at the south, making sure to check for traps along the way, and attack after the first two had already draw attention to themselves. The other two would camouflage themselves amongst the floodplain and target the barracks and guards. When their team had reached the village, all forces would move in to wipe out resistance and set fire to the lodges before striking north. He advised them that if they had not already taken trophies then this last village was the place to do it, but there was to be no one remaining in the village after the Acolyte whistled thrice. If they did, their lives were forfeit to the Dark Lotus.

All nodded in understanding and the three teams set out for their positions. While the third made difficult task of crossing the broad river, made even more worrisome that some had never seen a river before, teams two and the Acolyte’s team made their way up the bank until they were roughly parallel with the camp. Team two split off to head further north while Marahn-Marhna and his comrades shuffled down the slippery slopes of the floodplain to the ground. Crouching to the ground, he had a perfect line from the river up the hill to the chief’s tent. Few things would be so perfect.

Marahn set his lasgun aside and unsheathed his Wych knife. He cut and gouged into the soft dirt, shoving it aside. Within a few minutes he had made a little dip for himself and stacked the clumped earth in front of him as best he could to serve as a barrel-rest. Seeing the innovation of their leader, the others mimicked his  


End file.
